Bittersweet Sunshine
by GuiltyMind
Summary: They say home is where the heart is, but sleeping rough to escape her abusive home life, Tris Prior has no place to call home. This summer should be the same as the last.. but with a mysterious blue-eyed boy at the forefront of her mind and a new group of friends, can she learn to leave her bruises behind?
1. Chapter 1

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 1 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

I have always been a giver, warm and loving. Even as a child I never cried, seeking the happiness of others around me instead.

There once was a juncture where people sought me in times of trouble and I gave all I had - my whole heart and soul - to shower love upon them. To comfort them. By age fifteen, my own mother leant on me, told me of her woes and that I was the light of her life.

Yet, now that my time to suffer has come, now that my world is a hurricane of ice, everybody has pulled away and abandoned me in the storm.

I feel like a ghost uin a world of a paper dolls. I am the ghost running my own machine. I am barrelling through time and space, searching for a purpose, always looking in the shadows for the sacred spark.

And the real world becomes nothing but white noise, a distraction from finding a person, a person to step-up and rescue me from the screaming tempest.

Even in my own home, a space that should be filled with my mother's love, is a void so black that no light can penetrate. Though the house is made up of bricks and mortar, I believe that it is a stack of damp cards that wobble in the wind. It will fall like a stack of playing cards with the slightest movement - there is nobody else to blame but _him_.

The monsters that hide behind the walls there bring out the very worst in one another, each of them backing up the other's vices as if they were virtues. It is "right to discipline a deviant child with physical persuasion". And it is "the right way to ensure good behaviour". Their words slurred over the liquor, their toxic addictions to the stuff bending their inhibitions, twisting their minds.

I close my eyes and imagine them tearing apart the house in a fight, glass smashing, voices clamorous and spite-filled. I see myself curled up in the bathroom, against the wooden door, praying to anyone that is listening for the lock to hold.. that he won't be able to reach me.

I can hear my mother's screaming, as blow after blow is bestowed upon her face. Bloody fists. Broken nose. I know that I would be next.

Beginning to shrink into myself, I shake my head and press the cold cigarette to my chapped lips, hugging the paper weapon as I click the plastic lighter to life.

The flickering light splashes onto my watery charcoal eyes; eyes contaminated by loss and pain as they slide shut while I inhale the precious chemicals as if they are my life support.

The sweet toxins fill my lungs and I exhale my relief into the night air, a cloud of smoke. It swirls upward like a dancer toward the sky full of stars, devouring everything in its path before curling into nothingness once more.

The pale substance is a ribbon of death, and I gaze, transfixed at its thin folds as they ebb away, dragging my health with them. It is dangerous and full of mystery, like a christening of my sin. I have a thing for danger; flirting with death to distract myself from the pain.

The sweet burning sensation allows me a small relief, a form of infliction that I can control, that I can manage for myself. A sharp contrast in the powerless nature I possess. With an inhale of a cigarette, my domination is unquestionable.

Tilting my head up to the sky, a ghost of a smile paints my lips; the starry night above is better than any software imitation. There are softer patches, clusters of faint and bold light, the constellations aligning with the correct time of year. These are the same stars that greeted the ancients, the very stars that will still be there in another million years.

I sit among a cluster of trees, providing me with a shelter away from curious eyes - the burning ember of my cigarette being the only visible thing about me.

From across the street, cliche chart toppers thunder into my ears, slipping through the air. I can almost smell the teen spirit pouring out from the entrance of the abominable high school, and the nauseating joy that comes along with the semi-formal dance.

I scowl, leaning further back against the rough bark of the large oak tree, my legs outstretched on the patch of pea-green grass. Possibly the only thing worse than school in all of its twisted corruption, is the tradition of the school dances.

The love that was inside of me for the first sixteen years of my life has been crushed. Once finding pleasure and excitement in a pointless homecoming dance, my mind was hazed with the telltale teenage naivety - my only predicaments were whether my juvenile crush liked me back, which outfit to wear to school, or whether I would get a decent grade on my next pop quiz.

The good and gentle nature that I upheld has fizzled away, replaced with bitterness and ice. My heart filled with hate and animosity, rather than warmth and concern.

The hurt lodged itself within my sweet persona, poisoning my mind and my attitude until I was deemed a "problem child", destined for a life behind bars, or on the streets, or in a bar, drinking away my failures.

No matter how much I lashed out as a cry for help, begging somebody to pull me out from my nightmare, no saviour would ever emerge.. in truth, there was nobody left who cared, who even had the capability to respond to my darkness. I have been pushed aside, labelled as a lost cause. I am all alone in the dark and dreary universe.

When I close my eyes and see my life - the life I always imagined - I see something different, to what I see now.

I flick away the end of my cigarette as I watch a group of girls emerge from the school, giggling and noticeably giddy in their heels. Ever the leader, I recognise the irritating voice of Nita Pablos almost instantly, my lip curling.

She struts ahead of her friends, perfectly balanced on her heels, the epitome of egocentric. She wears an expensive-looking gown, made of soft, satiny fabric, long and loose. The colour of a Valentine's Day rose. A semicircular, high collar made of silk-like material heads the long gown.

I cannot help but resent the dark-haired beauty. Her presence around the school buzzes like a fly that is damn near impossible to swat away. Nita has designer clothes, the biggest house in Newport. She has everything - an adoring circle of friends that follow her blindly, practically oozing with the sex appeal that attracts almost every boy within ten feet, a loving family.. a bed to sleep in.

And with all of this, comes her spoilt, self-serving attitude, which is the root of my hatred. Despite the silver spoon hanging from her full lips, she has no sense of modesty or humbleness, making her all the more detestable.

With her dark curls and big chocolate brown eyes, she consistently makes an appearance looking as if she just left a photo shoot for the cover of Teen Vogue. And everyone (except for me) immediately fell under her powerful hypnotic spell the minute she stepped a foot in the door as a transfer student from Manhattan at the beginning of the school year.

Hiding in the shadows, I watch as she links arms with one of her minions, flipping her curls over one shoulder and making an exit, leading her red-headed accomplice across the parking lot to her ride for the evening.

A regrettable envy courses through my veins, my hands shaking despite the warm night. _What I wouldn't give to trade places._

Rising from my spot on the bed of grass, I brush down my ripped jeans with the palms of my hands, not missing the trembling of my fingers - the thought of Nita's perfect life haunting my mind.

I turn away from the cluster of trees, my back toward the school, and head in the opposite direction, the way to get home. Well, my make-do version of a home.. if that's what you could call it.

A home is supposed to be a haven. It isn't a place to be feared or avoided. It isn't somewhere you could bear to run away from. I prefer the streets - it feels safer, it _is_ safer. In my place, nobody can hurt me, nobody can touch me. The ghosts of my past have little power there.

All that my real home can offer is fear, hurt, tears and bruises. It is a house not a home; beams and walls, bricks and cement. I am better off alone, looking out for myself, hiding away in the depths of the woods; anywhere is safer than where they are.

Stepping into the forest at night robs you of one sense, yet heightens the others. It is almost disorienting to be virtually blinded, but given the ears of wolf. Even the soft susurration of the branches is heavy to the ear.

My sense of smell is sensitised, the loam in the earth and the leaves makes the air thick and constricting. The blackness nurtures a sense of claustrophobia inside even though the stretch of woodland goes on for miles.

The narrow path, which is made uneven by knotted tree roots, branches at intervals. There is no map to follow, but even if there was the blackness of the night would inhibit the use of such an item.

It is undeniably daunting and perceivably sinister, but there is peace among the sullen ambiance. My eyes flicker over the thick, dark trunks of the trees that rise steadily to the sky, the branches interlocking with its neighbours, protecting their territory. They are so densely packed together that I barely manoeuvre my way along the vague pathway.

I should feel lost, blindly making my way through the maze of rough bark around me and twigs beneath my feet, but the woods are so familiar that my mental navigation system is on auto-pilot, using only my instinct to get me to my destination. It has never let me down before, and tonight is no exception.

Pausing at the base of a large willow tree - the vines hanging low as a form of shelter from any unwanted attention, human or otherwise - I grab ahold of my homemade rope ladder. Slightly worse for wear, but not a liability by any means.

Securely grasping the rope in my clammy hands, I raise one foot onto a rung, slowly and carefully ascending the ladder, praying that I can make it up without hitting the ground once again.

The climb is slow and cautious due to the ebony blanket that has been thrown over the town, but after a minute I manage to haul myself onto the wooden platform, letting out a sigh of evident relief.

I stand up carefully, grasping the blunt edge of the wooden cube atop of the platform - grateful to be back in the confinement of my childhood treehouse, and as of recent, my new home.

It is not much - a little old and run down - but it is all that I have, and despite its location, is safer than being back in the house with my mother and her wicked husband. Plus, staying here is a much better option than sleeping rough out on the streets; it's a small town, people talk. The news of my homelessness would spread like wildfire, drawing in unwanted attention and questions that I do not want to answer.

I shuffle along the platform, sticking to the side of the cubed walls until I reach the door, kicking the bottom with my right foot and pounding my knuckles against the top left corner, causing the rickety door to swing open, invitingly.

Once safely shut inside with the door closed again, I reach for the battery-powered fairy lights that are strung sloppily around the interior, lighting up the wooden shelter with a soft golden glow. I cast my eyes around the tiny room, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth.

A blow-up mattress that I got at the nearest tourist store lies in the corner, covered with a dozen stolen blankets and pillows. A stack of books and newspaper articles sits at the foot of my make-shift bed, scattered across the wooden panelling beneath my feet, cold to the touch. My stack of food sits in another corner, beneath the large map of the world poster stuck to the wall, annotated imaginatively with red marker - every place that I wish to explore circled. A girl can dream, right?

A misshapen violet beanbag also resides in the small wooden cube, more newspaper clippings and novels flung around sloppily. My clothes are kept in a small iron trunk beside my food stash, along with wash items and schoolbooks.

Pulling out a chocolate bar from my pile of snacks, I flop down onto my plush beanbag - retrieved from my own bedroom - and frown at the treat in my hand. It has melted in its wrapper, now smooth and runny like a sauce.

I should have foreseen the spoiling of my food; with the heat of the Summer, the UV rays are sure to destroy my supplies. An ice chest is the solution, but they - like everything - cost money, of which I'm severely lacking in. I do not have enough to just splash out on an ice chest.

The beginning of summer vacation is both a blessing and a curse; more free-time means that I can pick up more shifts at my job down at the beach-side cafe, which will be heaving with holiday-goers on vacation. On the other hand, the heat means spoiling supplies, that I cannot afford to keep replacing. It really is bittersweet sunshine.

After switching my dirty clothes for a pair of light-weight pyjamas, I switch off my fairy lights and crawl onto the air mattress. My fingers become intertwined in the knitted blanket as I wrap it around myself, burrowing close into the peach-coloured material, finding comfort and solace in one piece of my childhood - the very blanket that happened to be the last gift from my father before he passed away when I was fifteen.

His death is what tipped everything upside down, my whole world changed and morphed into a nightmare when we lost him to a car accident. My life slipped through my fingers and shattered like glass. I tried to pick up the pieces, but it cut my fingers and caused too much pain. I couldn't fix everything that was wrong; only Dad could have done that. And he is gone.

Now I am left to deal with what his death left behind, the trauma caused by a drunk driver. His life was taken away so quickly, like it meant nothing.. I never even got to say goodbye.

It happened so fast. I didn't really understand that he was never going to walk through the door again, until I waited for his return, week after week. Finally coming to the realisation that it was over, he was gone for good. Leaving my heart heavy with grief and the technicolour world that he created, dull down to black and white cable.

Mom did not grieve for very long - being alone was a foreign concept, and I knew that she would be quick to replace him, wanting the solace of company and support in the bed beside her. She dated around, but nothing ever stuck. Until Max.

Before him, we were getting by. Mom had a stable job, a safe home life, a happy daughter. She was trying to fill a hole in her heart in any way possible.. which resulted in her turning to the drink. And the drink that kickstarted this new addiction was provided to her by none other than Max.

After that, the suffering I had endured increased tenfold - now watching my mother drink herself to the brink of paralysis, bruises accumulating all over her body at the hands of her new husband, and being targeted myself.

Bruises, broken ribs, bloody nose, split lip, sprained wrist.. the list of injuries could go on for evermore.

Now the submissive alcoholic, she no longer cares about the abuse - aimed at herself or me - she just concentrates on where the next binge is coming from.

Fingering a scar on my forearm, my lip trembles with the memories, the pain, the endless torment and the crippling fear that I felt every time I heard his footsteps outside of my bedroom, the alcohol stale on his breath.

As hard as I try to hold it in, the pain comes out like an uproar in my throat in the form of a silent scream. The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down my cheeks. I feel the muscles of my chin shudder like a small child.

I hear my own sounds like they are separate from me - raw, distressed, desperate. It takes something from me that I didn't know I had left to give, bleeding me completely dry of hope or faith in salty tears that stain my pale cheeks.

The sobs punch through, tearing my muscles, guts and bones with its irreversible impact. My hands open and close, rhythmically clenching as if there could be a violent solution to my grief, if only I could find it.

I often tell myself that I do not understand the need to cry, why it is such a common and overused concept to deal with pain. But now, alone in the dark, it is easy to comprehend; releasing all of the bad thoughts through tears is a therapeutic way to let go. Perhaps breaking down once in a while is a good thing - could our eyes really need to be washed out with tears once in a while? At least, to help us to see the world clearly again.

When the tears aren't even half way done, I am empty. I could not cry even if I wanted to. I have experienced this kind of sadness before. The despondency still lingers, but not so raw anymore - now it is an empty unhappiness - the kind that does not lift so easily.

I stare around me, my eyes making out small shapes in the dark. My surroundings are exactly the same, but they give me no emotions. It feels like a void. A dark void. A never ending dark void that consumes everything, so that I am left feeling nothing at all.

Empty. Nothing to subside my hollow soul that creeps in the shadows, away from any other human life because its emptiness is so overbearing that it cannot pretend that everything is ok. Nothing is ok! People walk around this earth each and every day saying that it will be ok, that it will turn out in the end. Why can't we all just admit that we are all hollow plastic dolls with a painted-happy face revealing no guilt, sadness, emptiness - no acceptable emotions aside from happy.

When will everybody just quit pretending?

As my consciousness ebbs, my mind goes into free fall, my eyes growing heavier and heavier with each passing second. I feel a blackness come over me, like a blanket of warmth, sheltering me from the evil.

As my thoughts become nonsense, I know that it is ok to give in to sleep. It is ok to let go.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys, welcome to a brand new story, 'Bittersweet Sunshine'. I have had so much fun planning this story for you guys, and after an extended absence I am back with a fresh idea and big plans for this story, get excited!**

 **Ok, so this chapter was kind of short and pretty depressing, without any character communication. The next chapter will introduce the others characters, I just wanted to set the scene and give you the insight to Tris' background and current situation.**

 **This will be a Four/Tris story, with other ships toyed around with throughout. The rating is T, for mentions of abuse, swearing, smoking and drinking. If you would like to see some smut from this story too, let me know!**

 **Drop a review and let me know what you think to the first chapter!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 2 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

With every step the sand shifts. With every motion forward there is some backward and down, just like walking in fresh fallen snow.

Yet unlike the crystalline blanket bequeathed by the winter time, the fine grains underfoot give me warmth from the sun rays. Like their sky-bound benefactor, the grains are yellow, as if the sunshine itself is trapped inside the crystals of silicone and oxygen.

At the shoreline, waves roll in white tips, spreading themselves like fine lace over the beach as they crash in their soft way. There is nothing noisy about them, but they have sound. Perhaps to me it is more like the music of my childhood summers so long ago with the people I loved and lost.

If I close my eyes I can hear my mother calling me back to the sand dunes for a packed lunch, my father rustling his newspaper, perched on a deckchair. In my closed hand would be a red bucket and spade, an excited grin kidnapping my lips.

In those days, summer vacation was a well-spent phenomenon; I looked forward to the days filled with sunshine and snow-cones, riding my bike along the sidewalk without a care in the world, playing in the treehouse until dusk.

I trudge my way along the beach, away from the cafe I have spent four hours inside of, working a gruelling shift in the unbearable heat. With tourists coming in for vacations and the locals enjoying the sun and the freedom, there was more than enough business to keep me occupied throughout the shift.

I can feel the tiredness inside of me like a tapeworm. Everything seems to be dragging at a slow pace, all submerged in hazy fuzz through my blurred vision. I feel the energy leak out of me like a faulty faucet, bleeding me of my spirit.

Sleep is not an option; confined to the four walls of my old treehouse in this blistering heat would be impossible to bear. Relaxing in the shade is my best chance of resting up, allowing my body to recharge and reboot. And I know just the place.

As I continue in the direction of the parking lot, I pass families picnicking in the sunshine, little kids building sandcastles and playing soccer or running into the surf. A group of familiar local girls are sunbathing too, smoothing suntan lotion over long and tanned limbs, sunshades pulled low over their eyes.

I push my own sunshades further up my nose, protecting my drooping eyes from the ball of fire grazing the azure skies.

Rather than embracing the heat head-on and working on a tan, I am burying myself in frequent shifts, pouncing on the opportunity to make a little more money, like a predator devouring its prey.

I glide along the sand like a slinking panther, my bare feet sinking into the soft mounds, eager to get away, to curl back into myself in the silence and solitude of the woods. Introverted by nature, I have always preferred my own uncomplicated company, as opposed to surrounding myself with the complexity of other people, just for the sake of it.

Reaching the hot concrete of the crowded parking lot, I slip into my sneakers, tying up the laces quickly, the sun beating down mercilessly onto my back as I crouch low to the floor.

Though a little out-dated, my black canvas sneakers are reliable enough; seeing them perched on the shelf, it was hard to imagine what could possibly go wrong with a pair like that. The soles are thick and the stitching perfect, just the right balance between practical and vintage-couture.

I tighten my high ponytail and wander away from the coastline, leaving behind the sounds of laughter and splashing waves, watching as another crowd of cars pulls into the lot - it certainly is busy this time of year.

I take the short cut through town, the streets littered with tourists, darting in and out of cafes, souvenir businesses, and the candy store, popular with the children these days. I pass the greengrocers' small store, the windows laden with apples and oranges, and the butchers with his bloody lumps of meat on display and naked chickens strung up for all to see.

A posse of kids on bikes swerve past in a skid of gravel, yelling incoherently to one another as they dodge the people walking the streets and taking photographs with portable cameras.

I duck down a side street, following the cobbled pathway as it begins to incline, accommodating the higher plain of the forest at the foot of the steep trail, buildings enclosing me from either side.

As I ascend the steep hill, the cobblestones beneath my feet morphs into a wider walkway where the soil is soft yet rocky in fleeting footsteps. Leading up to a peak in the wooded area bordering the oceanside town.

I step into the cluster of trees, sighing gratefully for the measly shelter it provides from the blistering heat, the shade giving me a dizzy spell of relief. Here, the forest path is wide and civilised.

Up to a certain point, the council even used taxes to lay wood chips and place garbage bins along the route. The trees are so separated by this swathe they have cut that I still need my sunshades. The brilliant rays are hardly dappled but shine brightly from above.

However, as I continue down the designated pathway, I know that it will change soon - the noble efforts of the council will dwindle to a close half way into the forest, and nature will reassert itself. Soon enough, the tree roots cross over the path, gnarled and uneven; as beautiful as any fairytale illustration.

I push my sunshades up onto my head, admiring the colours with unshielded eyes, the canopy above providing stable shade and protection. I have a map of this place carefully constructed in my mind. My sneakers have trodden these paths so frequently that they leave permanent imprints. I cannot tire of the greenery, of these very trees.

Finally reaching my destination, breaking through the tough alliance of shrubbery, I elbow my way into the small clearing. Despite this being a place that I visit often, I find myself entrapped by the view, as if it is like I have discovered it for the very first time.

The river that curls seductively along the ground is a slice of mellow harmony amid the fragrant leaves. It flows like time, always pressing onward, always toward destiny. One day these waters will enter the great ocean, each drop a vital part of the mighty aquatic world. The waters surface is livened by brief crescents of fish arching against the cool water as they swim.

My eyes travel downstream, admiring the small waterfall, rocky in stature yet smooth in the waters descent. Crashing against the slow current, desperate to join the team of droplets, joining the river almost nonchalantly.

It is a ribbon of living turquoise, boldly flowing amid the green of the forest. No matter the chatter of the trees it is steady, welcoming, refreshing. On quiet days it can be heard to whisper its wisdom, on the stormiest of days it is lost to all but those who listen. Even on the rainiest of days, it can be heard beneath the splashes, a sacred melody. Always present, always moving.

Finding a good spot beside the flowing crystal waters, I sit with my legs outstretched on the warm and sun-scorched July bed of grass. Leaning back on my toothpick arms, attached to long and slim fingers, sliding into the blades of grass, tickling and scratching the sensitive skin of my palms.

I pluck a vibrant dandelion from the earth, twirling the stem between my fingers, lying back with a relaxed sigh. There is only so much work and public interaction that I can take before needing to hear the river crash in my ears and feeling a bed of grass on my back, placing feather kisses to the bare skin of my arms and legs.

The air is sweet, the weather is fine, there are birds in the sky and a divine silence. Surrounded by the best of elements, I allow myself to perfect the art of emptying my head, focusing on the steady beating of my heart.

I am alone, truly and fantastically alone. Even my memories are not able to burden my mind in this state of simple tranquility.

Not two minutes after my eyes drift close, my whole body falling under the heavy hand of relaxation, the awkward clearing of a throat nearby startles me back to reality.

I sit up sharply, my eyes falling upon the offender. A familiar-looking boy examines me from a few metres away, a stack of books under his arm and a pair of black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. His flaxen hair is tousled from the warm breeze, and his celery green eyes dart to his feet nervously. I recognise him from school, perhaps noticing him in a brief passing once or twice.

"S-sorry," he stutters, awkwardly. "I didn't mean to startle you.. I didn't think anybody else even knew about this place."

"Ditto..." I mutter, leaning back on my hands, angling an eyebrow.

"I was just looking for a quiet place to read," he tells me, shifting the array of books tucked under his left arm. "I can leave, if you'd rather be alone-"

"Don't leave on my account.. it's a free country. Do what you like. Besides, it's not like there is any other place in town to get a minutes peace, right." I interrupt, dryly, attempting to crack a joke to ease his nerves.

He chuckles politely, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm Will, by the way. I think I recognise you from around school, though I am certain we don't share any classes.."

"That's right, I don't get set into the high ability classes," I shrug. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say academia is your strong suit."

"I suppose," he smiles, bashfully, adjusting his glasses. "Sorry.. I didn't actually get your name."

"That's because I didn't tell you it," I watch him flush scarlet and take pity. "It's Tris." I add, softening.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Tris. Are you sure you don't want me to go? You were here first, after all."

"Don't sweat it," I wave him off, my curiosity spiked as I scan my eyes over his reading material. "What you got there?"

Hesitantly, he wanders a little closer and lowers himself down beside me, setting down the books. "A loot from the local library.. Dickens, Shelley, Stevenson-"

"Alice in Wonderland.. Carroll, huh?" I smile, amused at his choice. "I had you pegged as more of a Lord of the Flies kind of guy."

"It's a great read, I like Carroll's writing style." He shrugs, shyly handing me the hardback copy.

"Me too, I'd say it's pretty similar to Neil Gaiman, you know the guy who wrote Coraline? Using children as the protagonists to create a different view point.."

"You know your authors," he praises, appreciatively. "If you like Gaiman's work, you should check out-"

Before he can finish his sentence, the sound of female-pitched giggling becomes audible from across the bank. A group of girls, it would seem. All chatting with high-pitched enthusiasm, accompanied by routine uproars of genuine laughter.

I exchange an irritated glance with Will, who seems just as exasperated - his plans for a quiet couple of hours of reading seem to be extending more and more out of his reach. I am not pleased either; after escaping the social torture of school for the summer, more involuntary forms of socialising is not what I had in mind.

Right on cue, a trio of teenage girls emerge from the shrubbery, clutching a range of picnic items, smiling with pearly white teeth and painted lips. I recognise them immediately.

Christina Kravitz has the loudest voice no matter the room she finds herself in. Her conversations are always buoyant and intended to be heard by everybody with working ears. She is of Italian descent, a spicy Latina shining through in the way she holds herself, speaks and acts.

Unlike most of the pretty girls at school, as well as being beautiful - with slender limbs, big brown eyes and to-die-for curves - she is the kind of the girl that will speak to anyone with undeniable kindness and respect. A girl with a brash personality, but a seemingly empathetic heart.

Marlene is quieter than her friends, reserved in nature, but every bit as confident. She walks with an unwavering dominance, leaving girls and boys alike staring after her with wonder and awe.

Shauna is the school's social queen bee - friends with almost everybody, head of every school organisation, cheerleader and the student body president. She uses this popularity to aid others, to make our school a 'better place'. At least, for those _not_ submerged in the shadows of the outside.

A perfect trio of girls - beautiful, smart, confident. If I wasn't so intent on being a social pariah, perhaps I would also find it incredibly hard not to befriend them.

"Great," Will mutters to himself, looking down at his stack of books. "So much for a _peaceful_ afternoon."

I study his face briefly, not buying the hostility; his cheeks are flushed to a rosy shade, and his fingers twitch nervously. I look away - it's none of my business.

"Maybe they won't even notice us." I suggest in vain, watching dully as they glance around the clearing until they spot us. I release a sharp breath between my teeth.

"Hey, Will." Shauna calls over, grinning as she waves with her spare hand, the other clutching a checkered picnic blanket.

"Er, hey.. funny seeing you here." Will manages to squeak back, giving an awkward gesture with his hand in return.

"You know them." I state, resting on my hands, a smirk pulling at my lips; judging by his reaction, knowing them is an understatement.

"Uh-huh," he confirms, wringing his hands together anxiously. "I helped Shauna with her student body president campaigns - y'know, designed posters and badges, gave her advice."

"Why didn't you run yourself?" I wonder aloud.

I didn't attend the campaign speeches myself; politics has never been of interest to me. Especially high school-based politics. Nothing could sound worse.

I watch in horror as the three girls confer quietly before turning in our direction, manoeuvring over a fallen tree to cross the river to reach our side of the bank. I consider rushing to my feet and bolting, but my butt seems to be planted firmly to the ground, completely perplexed as to how I even let myself get to this point.

"Ha," he snorts, amused by my question. "Me? Are you serious? Have you ever seen the way I am treated in that place? Enjoying education is a sure fire way to become a social outcast."

I curl my fingers into my palm, digging my nails in firmly. Being unfamiliar with Will, I had no idea that people had it out for him. He's right - straying from the 'norms' is a guaranteed way to never sit at the popular table. To go under fire from the jocks and the other overprivileged assholes that assume their status among their classmates means that they can say and do what they like. It just isn't _fair_.

The tale that "bullies pick on the weak" is a all bullshit - it is those who pick on others that are the weak. People like Will should not have to take the crap thrown at them. His obvious suffering with an anxiety disorder does not help the situation.

At school, people generally leave me alone. No mean comments, no rude looks, no bullies setting up booby traps in my locker or stealing my gym clothes while in the showers. It must be so hard for him.

"Hey guys," Christina's chirpy tone pulls me from my spell of anger, and I watch as she flops down on the grass, casually. "You don't mind if we join you, right? We come bearing snacks."

"Not at all." Will agrees, hurriedly, a bashful smile on his lips as he moves his books aside to make room.

"You sure we aren't crashing a date?" Shauna adds, cheekily, laying out her blanket before sitting, crossing her slender legs.

"W-what? No! I mean, I just got here and found Tris, and we got talking. Not a date." He flounders, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"It's Tris, then," Christina states, boldly, turning her head to set her chocolate eyes on me. "I don't think we have ever met before. I'm Christina - aspiring fashion designer, business woman and makeup extraordinaire."

"Subtle, Chris," Marlene laughs, also turning to face me with a keen smile. "I'm Marlene, and this here is Shauna. Though I'm sure you already know that. Our infamous student body president."

"Hey now. Student body president today, president of the United States tomorrow." Shauna amends, elbowing the blonde gently in the ribs.

I offer a smile in acknowledgment and bite down on my fingernail. They are already bitten down considerably, and I continue to nibble anxiously, like a starving rabbit. My anxiety levels are skyrocketing; sitting here with a group of people who casually converse and laugh under the sunshine seems too alien, way too unnatural. I don't belong with a group, I am much better alone. A lone wolf, not a pack animal.

My fight or flight instincts are kicking in, and every part of my body is screaming at me to get away from this uncomfortable situation.

I clench my spare hand onto a tight fist, my fingernails digging into the soft skin, but I don't even feel it. The only thing I am really aware of is the erratic beating of my heart against the cage of my chest. It is not until I open up my fist and uncurl my fingers that I discover the blood on my palms, due to the wounds my nails have inflicted.

"Hey, Tris," Shauna rests her hand on my arm, a gentle touch but I flinch away, instinctively. "Are you ok? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah, of course," I lie, dredging up a fake and over rehearsed smile. "Just tired.. working a four hour shift in this heat is no fun."

"Okay," she concedes. If she sees through my act she doesn't call me out on it. "Want some food? My mom overpacked - we have cake, cookies, soda, candy.."

I turn down the food but accept a can of cold lemonade. With butterflies in my stomach and my head buzzing with negative possibilities, I wouldn't be able to stomach a thing.

I take sips of the fizzy drink to calm my nerves. I don't want to keep biting my nails or my lip, so I gnaw the inside of my cheek. It hasn't healed from a few days ago, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

The fact that the girls seem so friendly and welcoming only worsens the cloud hanging over my head, dark and filled to the brim of rain - being around nice people is so much harder. I can never tell what is genuine; things always look one way but are truly another.

Trusting that there are still good people is much harder than believing that everybody around me are cruel and heartless. Acceptance doesn't come easily.

Beside me, Will seems at ease; watching an oblivious Christina with an adoring gaze, he looks more relaxed, less nervous than he did before.

I now understand why. He leans back on his slim arms, completely love-sick. Though his enthusiasm for her story on a pop concert she attended is rather overdrawn, she welcomes the attention and his gaze goes straight over her head.

For a moment, I allow my mind to wander, to imagine a future where I am friends with these people. We would go to the movies and share buckets of buttered popcorn, crowd around a table at the cafe with milkshakes and spend the warm evenings at the beach. I would enjoy their company, enough to forget about the trauma and the darkness filling my veins.

It is a stretch of the imagination, but a heavy sense of longing sits at the pit of my stomach - why couldn't that life be mine? What is stopping me?

That could be me, soaking up the sun with people that I could consider real friends - an alien concept, the idea of having friends. People to confide in, to comfort me, to spend time with.

My eyes flicker around the group of people, all smiling and joking and chatting, and a small spark of hope lights inside my chest. A small spark, but a spark none the less.

Just as Will let's out a loud laugh, tilting his head back, another noise catches all of our attention and his chortle ceases into silence. We exchange curious glances, intrigued by the noises that grow louder by the seconds that pass.

I turn to the right, the others following suit, just as a group of boys crash through the bushes into the clearing. We watch as they push and shove playfully, jeering and teasing, and then, as if in slow motion, one of the trio falls back, arms flailing, landing in the crystal blue waters of the lake with a resounding splash.

As laughter and squeals of surprise fills the clearing, from the bank a pair of electric blue eyes dart up to meet my own.

As soon as he meets my gaze, I am drawn to his eyes. The icy blueness generates a feeling of drowning in the frozen waters of unreadable emotions. They are a whirlpool of every shade of blue, swirling together to create a work of art upon a face.

I bite down on my lower lip, an uneasy feeling washing over me - something tells me that everything is about to change.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Here is chapter 2, a much more lively chapter with character communication and introductions. I really hope you guys enjoyed, I worked super hard on this and had a ton of fun with the casual and natural introductions. Coincidence is a fine thing!**

 **I wanted to thank everyone for the support on my first chapter, it's insane! I'm glad you are all excited for this story; I certainly am!**

 **Also, my updating schedule will be every week, if not more. If I am busier, I will aim for a new chapter every Thursday. But I've had a little more time on my hands which is why there is a second chapter so soon. The next chapter will be out on Thursday so stay tuned :)**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 3 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

A happy ending always comes on the last page.

Every chapter, every word leading up that very last page must be a labyrinth of anguish and turmoil. From the very first chapter, right to the very last, the protagonist must fight against the odds, reaching a series of obstacles with dire consequences.

There is always a happy ending, isn't there? The feeble tale of the cliches; where beautiful people learn beautiful lessons, and nothing is too complex that it can't be solved with a heartfelt apology and a romantic, unrealistic gesture to soothe the waters.

My fingers are stationary against the smooth keys of my laptop, my wide and tired eyes staring into the abyss of white light radiating from the screen. The blank document taunting me. How can I write about something that I don't believe in?

As much as I would love to reward my brave heroine with the happy ending that she has fought so hard to obtain, the prospect is so cliche in itself that I cannot bring myself to type a single word with such an intention. This ending has to have depth and meaning, to give a realism to my characters that other novels lack.

The common positive ending is not the truth, it is not a relatable account of _real_ life. In the real world - outside of armoured attachment novels and romantic comedies - the girl doesn't always win the guy that she likes, and the heroine with the heart of gold doesn't always get to see the changes she caused in action.

People are broken, damaged, bruised. Not everybody gets that happy ending, why should a novel change that cruel and bitter fact?

The sigh that brushes past my lips is a signal, not of my deteriorating resolve but of the new heights that my tension has reached. I feel like a stove-top kettle - despite the steam released, I am still full to the brim with unexplainable frustration.

Just as the clock strikes eight, Mom sweeps her way into the sterile kitchen, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Her pastel cardigan is immaculate, not a button out of place, and her white skirt is ironed free of any creases or imperfections. A model and exemplary mirage of the 'all-American mother' yet a shell of an unalloyed woman at the same time.

I snap my laptop shut and straighten up in my seat at the small circular dining table, running a hand through my messy hair in a rushed attempt to tame it.

"Good morning, Tobias," she greets, sending a plastic smile in my direction. "What are you working on? College applications, I hope."

"Mom," I answer, curtly. "I was browsing through a few colleges that specialise in their track programmes. Application dates are pretty far away, but I figured it would be a good idea to get a head start in my decisions."

A heavy ache of guilt pulls at my heart strings; lying through my teeth might come easily when applied to my mother, but it doesn't mean that I don't feel bad about it. She just wouldn't approve of my writing - I have no time to waste dabbling in childish fantasies. My track career is the most important thing.

"That is right; why put off tomorrow, what can be done today. Getting ahead of the application dates shows initiative. And initiative gets you scholarships, which gets you into a good college." She lectures, sternly, pouring herself a cup of black coffee into an expensive china cup.

"Of course," I agree, lacing my tone with a forced positivity. "After all, college is the most important thing-"

"Wrong," she interrupts, swiftly. Her tone sickly sweet in its patronising nature. "The most important thing is success. And the key to success is dedication and hard-work. Never lose sight of what's really important, Tobias - _winning_."

Winning. I have won so many races that I have lost count, accelerating as those around me give up. I compete to win, and if I fail, I train harder to ensure that it doesn't happen again.

It is the way I am trained; perfection is instilled into my brain, the thirst for victory is prominent in my fights for the finish line, my feet working as powerful weapons. A force to be reckoned with. There is no stopping, no time to catch my breath, not until the finish line has been crossed and there is a first place medal hung around my neck.

Still, with a couple dozen medals under my belt, running does not give me the same pump of adrenaline as it used to. Even with the title of national champion in the under 18 track races, every time my feet fall against the smooth track, I still feel empty. Void of any emotion, of any joy.

I may be 'born to be a runner' but in my heart, I know it isn't what I want anymore.

"And remember, this summer is your perfect opportunity to train harder, better and stronger. Your senior year is the most important; college scouts will have a keen eye out for champions. For people like _you_ , Tobias." She adds, encouragingly, yet the underlying tone in her voice clearly reads that I have no choice in the matter. This summer _will_ consist of non-stop training and diet plans.

"Mom, I'm technically still a junior. It will be fine." I argue, blankly, wringing my hands together under the wooden table.

"You've already achieved so much, I just don't want anything jeopardising that," Mom replies, gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I love you so much, Tobias.. I just need you to be smart. I need you to be dedicated. No distractions. Stay focused. _Ok_?"

"Ok." I concede, ducking my head, my whole body screaming at me to just admit how I feel, to have a burden lifted from my shoulders. The truth could set me free.

I look up into her cambridge blue eyes, and I know that I cannot tell her; she has poured her blood, sweat and tears into making sure that I am successful, that I am perfect. Spending money on training gear and paying Amar.. how am I supposed to tell her that it's not what I want anymore? It would crush her. Her disappointment would be too painful. I don't think she would ever look at me the same way again.

Knowing all of this, my fingers still itch to type, to pour my creativity into words.

I long to write. Not to run.

"That's my boy," she beams, cupping my jaw with her hand. "All of this will pay off. When your father comes home, he will be sitting right alongside me at your first Olympic debut."

The mention of my father strikes a sore nerve, and I flinch away from her touch. His absence is still harrowing, his one mistake causing the gaping hole in our picture-perfect family.

When I think of him, I think not of the troubled man who was pulled away in the middle of the night, I remember his work ethic, his support, his company, his face front row at each and every race I ever ran.

The pain of his absence has not dulled with time, and every night I recite a string of prayers to anybody who may be listening, hoping that a miracle will bring him home, that it will bring him back to us.

However, like most real life traumas, this one is not likely to have a happy ending.

"I-I should probably get going," I stammer, rushing clumsily to my feet. "Like you said, I need to spend my time training.. better to get a head start."

"Your father _will_ be home soon. They made a mistake, Tobias. They made a terrible mistake, and they will realise that very soon and he can come home.. you believe that, don't you?"

I halt in my tracks, clutching onto the doorframe with rigid fingers, my breath catching in my throat. I want to believe, I want to trick myself into the idea that maybe it is all a mistake, but deep down, I know that it isn't. That he belongs where he is now.

"Yeah," I lie, shakily, glancing at my trembling mother over my shoulder, her put-together facade crumbling as she attempts to convince herself of his innocence. "I believe it. Of course I do."

A tear slides down her cheek and she slumps into my previously occupied seat, burying her head in her hands. I ache to comfort her, but I force myself to walk away and pretend that I did not just witness her confidence shatter - she needs to be alone for awhile, just as I do.

Already dressed in my loose running shorts and tight-fitted lycra shirt, I stuff my feet into my professional branded running sneakers. I leave the house in a flurry, the desperate wailing suppressed as I slam the door behind me, tension building up in every fibre and nerve of my overworked body.

With nothing else to bury myself into, I run. Like the winter breeze crashing into inanimate objects and icy waves crashing against the shore. Like an eagle soaring across indigo skies, and a herd of cheetahs racing through verdant meadows.

I pick up my pace, running as quickly as my long and muscular legs can carry me, bolting along the sidewalk like an Olympic champion at the start gun; transitioning into an all out sprint.

The pounding noise of my sneakers fills my ears with a clanging echo that matches my heart throbbing inside of my chest with the thickness of grief. The same grief that comes in waves, threatening to consume me completely. It is my master, and I at its mercy.

Sometimes, I wish Mom would crawl out of her pit of denial and we could deal with this together, we could mourn the loss of the man we used to know as a pair. Instead, she pretends that everything is normal; it is easier to lie to herself than to admit the truth. She wears her pearls with a bright smile, ignoring the reality of our situation. It's exhausting.

Around me, summer creeps along the neighbourhood, igniting the weeds and grasses that grow within the cracks of the sidewalk. My surroundings are bathed in the yellow wash of the sunlight which beats down relentlessly on my covered back - summers in Newport are blistering, attracting many tourists who are desperate for a splash of sun.

As I continue in my workout, turning a sharp corner into a well concealed alley way, I begin to wish that I had gone for a swim instead of a run. I sigh wistfully and wipe away the beads of sweat clustering to my forehead.

After weeks of waiting, the excitedly anticipated twelve week vacation has arrived in all of its hot and bright glory. For other teenagers, this well-deserved break means beach days, sunbathing, parties and ice cream. For myself, it means relentless training, strict diet plans, protein shakes and at least nine hours of sleep each night for maximum energy levels. Not exactly the most glamorous twelve weeks, if I do say so myself.

If my green-eyed monster is to rear its ugly head on any occasion, it would be in the company of the two other members of the infamous trio - the Pedrad twins.

With a supportive mother and the freedom to pick their own future, to decide their own fate, I am envious of the fraternal twins. They can eat what they like, say what they please, and follow whatever passion they may have.

As their best friend, I am obligated to support them in their path to success, watching them soar in confidence as they pursue their own dreams - not what was chosen for them. Although I take great pleasure in watching them achieve and grow, I can't help the hideous jealously that spikes in my chest. Longing for the freedom that they take for granted so flippantly. I want so much more than what has been planned for me. I want it more than I can tell.

Reaching the juncture of the alley, I take a left and continue to run, each light footfall sounding like a gunshot to my sensitive ears, every sense heightened with peculiar audacity.

My muscles ache and burn from the fast pace but I push past the pain, elbowing it viciously to the back of my mind. My stamina eludes me, but somehow I can manage to force myself forward, whatever the circumstance. There is always enough reserve if you are stubborn enough to demand of it, and I am.

My training does not allow me to stop for a breather or a break. It's all or nothing.

Absorbed in my own stream of conscience, I am violently pulled out from my thoughts as I turn a corner, darting straight into two people. Stumbling back in shock, I manage to catch myself before I fall, firmly reinstating my footing so that I stand upright with a steady posture.

My shoulder throbs from where I violently barged into the unexpected strangers, who are both sprawled out in a heap of ligaments on the sidewalk. Upon closer inspection and a quick study of lopsided grins, dark eyes and the familiar cackling and grumbling, I smirk in amusement as I look down at the two boys.

"Fuck you, Four," Uriah cries as he scrambles to his feet, cradling his elbow tenderly. "Would it kill you to watch where you're going?"

"Yeah. Luckily I didn't fall and break my charm." Zeke jokes with a cocky drawl as he also staggers upright, smirking obnoxiously.

"What the hell are you guys doing out of the house before noon?" I ask, running a hand through my damp hairline.

"It's close enough - Mom kicked us out on our asses, pulled the plug on our video game and told us to _enjoy the fresh air_." Zeke explains, whining like a three-year-old with a bad temper.

I glance down at Zeke's designer watch, widening my eyes slightly at the time it reads - _11:45am_. I must have been so submerged in my thoughts that I lost track of time, running in circles around the neighbourhood like a headless chicken.

"You look exhausted, how long have you been out here?" He adds, scanning my face with a friendly concern, though his cockiness still lingers beneath the surface.

"A while.." I respond, vaguely, leaning my palms against my knees as I catch my breath. "I wanted to get out of that house for a couple hours. Mom is driving me crazy - eat this, drink that, train, train, train."

"Those are the attachments that comes with being Newport's golden boy." Uriah smugly chips in, a dark eyebrow arched.

"Yep. Champions aren't allowed to have fun." Zeke chimes in, teasingly. "Yet, on this occasion, I think we can make an exception. C'mon, spend the day with us. It's the first of the entire summer vacation, take a break, cut loose for once."

I roll my eyes; these 'fun days' usually mean the complete opposite. Trouble seems to tail this set of twins like a bad smell, and somehow I get dragged into every scheme they come up with. And their idea of 'cutting loose' is presumably _illegal_.

I have been friends with the Pedrad brothers since the second grade - my initial memory of them is their head butting workshop on the first day, and I watched them be dragged out from the school building by their ears, being pulled by their very furious mother.

After their three day suspension, I was partnered with Zeke for a juvenile science experiment, and an unorthodox friendship was born. And with the first troublesome twin comes the other.

My mom has never approved of our friendships, but as an introverted and embarrassingly shy boy, my options for friends were definitely limited. Although I am still very much that introverted weirdo in most aspects, the two boys have brought me out of my shell, introduced me to mischief and excitement and adrenaline.

Before the grace of puberty, I was often picked on a lot for being overly slender and meek-looking. Both Uriah and Zeke would stick up for me, even if it meant that they came under fire from the bullies.

And for those reasons, my mother's blessing was not necessary nor was it needed. Her distaste for the Pedrad brothers didn't matter - you don't let go of real friends. They're hard to find, after all.

"Come on," Uriah pleads. "Your mom won't miss you for another few hours, right? We promise to deliver you back in one piece!"

"She _is_ at her book meeting until three." I admit, wavering; as long as I beat her home, I can pretend that I was home the entire afternoon, browsing through colleges online. She would be none the wiser.

"Exactly," Zeke pounces on my uncertainty. "She'll never know. You get to have a little fun, and she will think you have been at home ironing your socks. Everybody is happy!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exasperated at my awful resolve to say no to them, to stay out of trouble. Newport's golden boy? _Yeah, right_. Maybe it is time to change that. You are only seventeen once.

"Ok, ok. Let's do it. What's the harm, right?" I concede, running a hand over my face, a civil war declared right then in my mind - a devil and an angel on my shoulder, battling it out in a furious duel of the good and the bad.

"There's my best friend," Zeke praises, grinning widely as he ruffles my hair. "I was thinking we could go to the woods, get out of the heat. I don't fancy sweating out of my buttcheeks down by the beach."

"The woods?" I ask, taken aback at their mundane choice; I was expecting something outlandish and ridiculous, like the roof of the local candy store.

"I could show off my tree climbing skills." Uriah agrees with enthusiasm, making an odd monkey pose, his face screwed up into a comical expression.

"Or lack thereof." I admonish, kicking his shin swiftly, causing him to lose his balance and topple over, a feminine scream escaping his lips as he hits the ground.

"Ow," he yelps, cradling his knee to his chest, scowling. "Four you are _so_ dead."

"You will have to catch us first, little brother." Zeke shrugs, before abruptly turning on his heels and sprinting away, laughing and pumping his arms with vigour.

I follow, pushing myself harder to overtake my howling friend, flashing him a competitive and smug grin over my shoulder. This seems to aggravate him into determination, and his eyes flash with an ambitious glint. His pace accelerates, hot on my heels.

Uriah chases in pursuit, chuckling to himself as he badly attempts to catch up - with his breath control, it would take thirty years for him to fall into pace with us.

We all run along the sidewalk, ducking into alleys and weaving through parked vehicles, the sun shining down on us like a beam of encouragement. With the warmth on my neck and the infectious sounds of joy from behind me, I begin to laugh along with them, my shoulders shaking.

It is the rare kind of laughter that I can feel deep in my lungs, almost taking my breath away. The lack of oxygen doesn't matter; all of the anguish of the past few months melts away like snowballs in a microwave.

This laughter creates a small vacation away from the grief and the hostility. For this single moment, the absence of my dad and the sounds of my mothers cries washes away, not mattering for this fleeting frame of time.

I lose the the tightness in my chest and my muscles relax. After all that has occurred, I feel hope. And hope feels good. With this hope comes the ideals of a fresh start, creating a life without my father, one that does not revolve around his sentence or whether he is truly innocent.

This moment, this raw and rare moment, is the brief and small part of my life called happiness.

Within minutes we have reached the West entrance of the large wooded area along the outskirts of our small tourist town, and I cover the soft earth with a great speed that suggests that my ankles are made more of tightly coiled springs than flesh and bone.

As I dart in and out of the trees, Zeke still furiously on my tail, determined to overtake me, and Uriah lags behind, out of breath.

Sweat rolls along my skin in thick, salty beads and I feel my heart pounding mercilessly against my rib cage, threatening to burst straight out of my chest.

In what felt like thirty seconds, we have ran a good fifteen minutes deep into the greenery, the giant trees sheltering us from the blistering sunlight. I slow my pace down to a light jog, forcing myself to come to a stop, ultimately causing Zeke's sprint to also halt as he crashes into my back; sending me stumbling forward, off balance. I hang on to the trunk of a large tree for stability.

Uriah stumbles into us a minute later, wheezing from the effort, sweat trickling down his face like a narrow streamline. He clutches his stomach with an expression that conveys no more amusement, wincing at an evident stitch in his side.

"Are you even human?" He gasps for air, staring at us both with disbelief. "I feel like I just died and came back to life. How do you do this every day, Four?"

"Trust me, that was a walk in the park compared to my usual training." I tell him with a smirk, leaning unceremoniously against the tree. My mind hazed with fatigue - almost four hours of constant exercise at maximum speed taking its wicked toll.

"Just because you can't keep up with the big boys." Zeke boasts, casting a taunting smirk at his brother.

" _Big boys_ ," Uriah mocks right back. "You're only ten minutes older, don't forget. You might be older, but I'm better looking."

"Oh really?" Zeke cackles, grabbing him by the collar and rubbing his knuckles along his scalp, and I watch in a combination of amusement and exasperation as they wrestle, pushing and shoving.

Their scuffle moves to the left, and I push myself away from the tree to get between them. Just as my hand grips their shoulders, Uriah lurches backward from a harsher shove from Zeke, pulling us all back into a cluster of shrubbery.

Instead of falling down like I had expected, we break through the greenery and into another clearing, pushing and elbowing one another as we attempt to steady our footing once more.

In what seems to be a slow motion moment of hilarity, Uriah continues in his backward descent, and we watch helpless as he falls back completely, crashing into a river of crystal water, a loud splash echoing around the small clearing. His arms flailing and his mouth hung open in a blind and amusing panic.

A chorus of laughter and gasps joins the screams of Uriah, now submerged in what seems to be semi-shallow water, and I snap my head to discover the source of the noises - a group of people huddled on a picnic blanket further up the bank, watching with entertained and startled facial expressions, mouths open at the sight.

I barely register the identities of the people within the group, as my eyes are drawn to something else: a pair of orbs that draw me in from afar, their intensity stopping my heart momentarily.

Her eyes remind me of ashes and smoke blowing in the wind coming from a wildfire that burned everything to the ground. Destructive but beautiful. Those very eyes ensnare me in their mystical and enchanting trap and I can't pull my own gaze away, every nerve and atom in my body alight with intrigue and temptation.

I gulp heavily, my throat suddenly tight and painful, overwhelmed by their sheer power and charm.

She holds my stare, a fire burning in the space between us, burning my fingertips and licking my ankles with a burning intensity. Dangerous. Deadly.

Yet, as I register the pull between our two sets of orbs, I realise that I like the way it burns.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Whoo! New chapter! A log of you guys were eager to see a Four POV, so I decided to give it to you guys; this was a lot of fun to write and it's what you guys wanted so complying was a pleasure.**

 **As you can see, Four's home life is much different but still rather mysterious. His mother is a controlling and a perfectionist, and his dad.. well, where do _you_ think he is, and why?**

 **The next update will be next Thursday (my usual updating schedule) so stay tuned. I also wanted to say thanks for the support so far, with only three chapters in counting. I'm super psyched for this story, and I'm glad you all seem to be too!**

 **Until next time,**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 4 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

The pages of the open book resting in my lap flutter against the summer breeze, lightly tossing back and forth. Gracefully, like ballerinas en pointe.

I sit alone on the bed of grass, beneath a particularly shaded tree, slouched against the rough bark. The leaves rustle above, startling greens in a dozen shades. An erect natural skyscraper bathed in an angelic light. It stands tall and proud, daring any other force of nature to challenge its position.

Down at the bank of the river, the others splash around, ankle deep in the crystal current. Laughter fills the clearing, a distinguished sound of joy and happiness.

Like the tale as old as time, I sit on the edge of the scene, observing their fun. Always on the outside looking in.

To my surprise, Christina managed to wrangle Will down to the rivers edge, where they now sit. I watch as she peers over his shoulder to follow along with the words on the pages of his novel, fondly. I can picture his flushed complexion, embarrassed by her blatant proxemics.

My calculating eyes skim over the juvenile antics of Uriah and Zeke - quite obviously making a show of their splashing to impress the two onlooking girls, giggling into their hands - instead fixating on the mysterious blue eyed boy with the strange nickname.

Like me, he has separated himself slightly from the group, staring at the water that moves with the symphony of a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Seemingly lost in thought, absorbed within the contents of his mind.

I am certain that I know all there is to know about Four Eaton: track star, the very top of the social monarchy, a champion. Leading our school's track team to victory with flying colours, coming out on top every time. Never a fault in his footfalls.

Clad in a letterman jacket, a desperate trail of girls vying for his attention, it was easy to categorise him. He is just another mindless, egocentric jock. He is the sun, and the students at Allegiant High are the planets - orbiting him as the centre of their universe. It's a classic storybook scenario.

I avert my eyes, a sudden overwhelming feeling of hostility constricting my chest. He has a depth in the eyes, that he lacks in the character. Forgetting that is not an option - his posse of jocks ruin people's lives everyday. They are all the same, just as twisted and insensitive.

The next time I dare to look up, I watch bewildered as Marlene jogs over to my spot beneath the tree. She proceeds to flop down beside me, stretching out her slender milky legs, resting back on her arms.

"Isn't he just gorgeous?" The ditzy blonde sighs dreamily, tilting her head in admiration. "I mean, _really_ handsome."

I follow her line of sight, seeking out Uriah who clumsily fumbles around in the water, knee deep. I frown, attempting to gather an opinion on the dark-skinned boy. His features are defined and sharp, his eyes bright and joyful. Handsome, yes.

"I suppose so." I shrug, letting my eyes drift back to the words adorning the pages of the library book, stolen from Will's large pile.

As she continues to gaze wistfully through her azure doe eyes, I contemplate the mechanics involved to make a friend; whilst I always viewed forming such a connection to be difficult and time consuming, Marlene's viewpoint certainly differs.

Not two hours ago, we were complete strangers - we _are_ strangers - yet here we are. She speaks to me in a way that one would to a close friend, giggling about good looking boys in a comfortable manner. As if we have been in the same position a dozen times before.

I am not sure whether I am supposed to agree, disagree or simply let her ride out her love-sick high, listening with deaf ears. Boy talk is not my strong point. I never realised that one day it would come down to such a trivial thing.

"It's not like he would ever look at me like that," she eventually concludes, her excitable attitude dampening. "I mean.. people talk, and there are a lot of rumours about the Pedrad brothers. Ladies men, blessed with the gift of natural charm, luring in the girls with their smiles, only to leave them high and dry when given the opportunity."

I bite down on my lip, having heard similar rumours myself. The dirty deeds transpiring between drunken teenagers, most prominently between Uriah and his flavour of the week.

Being an aspiring journalist, it is my job to seek the truth, to have my ear to the ground. It is no lie that Uriah Pedrad is quite the ladies man.

"Don't believe everything you hear.. rumours are exactly that." I tell her in an awkward attempt to console her.

"Maybe he's just shamelessly flirty, I won't look at it too closely," she tells me, returning to her nonchalant self with that declaration. "Why don't you come and join us down at the river? We were thinking about heading into town to grab some milkshakes.. I'd really like it if you came."

"You don't even know me. Before today, I don't think we exchanged more than a glance." I remind her, my eyebrows subconsciously knitting together.

"I don't know you _yet_ ," Marlene grins, nudging me gently with her shoulder. "Don't you want to get to know us? It can't hurt to make a few new friends, right?"

 _I don't do friends_ , I think to myself bitterly. I have hidden myself away behind brick walls for as long as I can remember, pushing away anybody who dared to attempt to climb those walls. Pushing them away until it sticks, until I was left with no one at all. No one but the bittersweet mistress of silence.

Before I can respond, Christina yells at us from the bank, "Are you two coming for milkshakes? My treat!"

Marlene turns to me with an encouraging smile, her supportive eyes only edging me to agree to the proposal of milkshakes - simultaneously agreeing to the prospect of a friendship.

I could stay underneath this tree and wallow in my own feelings, friendless, depressed and alone with the constricting quiet. Or I could follow the others, get a free milkshake and escape my own head for a while.

"I'm in." I concede in a murmur of my lips, a burst of air deciding my fate. The words flowing out before my brain can properly register what it means.

Marlene squeals and scrambles to her feet, flashing me an appreciative grin before gathering the picnic items that are scattered across the grass, tossing them back into the wicker basket.

I rise to my feet in pursuit, snapping my book shut and holding it close to my side, my fingers edging against the hard and worn spine. The others are busy composing themselves at the waters edge, slipping back into their shoes and ensuring that nothing is left behind.

With the basket tucked in the crook of her elbow, Marlene winds her spare arm around mine, interlocking them confidently before marching me over to the rest of the group.

I can't help but notice the way Uriah watches the precarious blonde as we approach - like she is some kind of desert, ready and waiting for him to devour. Kind of intense in a physical sense, making me uneasy.

Uriah Pedrad is bad news, through and through. I selfishly hope that his attraction to Marlene fizzles out; her kindness and compassion proves that she does not deserve the heartbreak attached to that boy like an official government warning.

Will has his books secured safely under his armpit, a lopsided grin adorning his features as he exchanges a dry joke with Christina, his glasses slightly off centre. The raven haired girl - who is oblivious to his love sick stare - rushes to greet us, grinning at the both of us.

A strange welcoming sensation washes over me, and my cheeks grow warm. Perhaps their intentions are truly genuine.

"Shall we?" Zeke asks, cheekily, extendednding his arm for Shauna to hang onto. She obliges with a giggle, ensnared by the famous Pedrad charm that Marlene was talking about.

Will trots along beside Uriah, the two bickering about a video game, with Marlene and Christina closely following behind, rolling their eyes as they listen in to the immature conversation.

I drag my feet along behind, running my fingernails along the spine of my book, anxiously chewing on my full lower lip. Consciously aware of the electric presence beside me, of whom walks in a stoney silence, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts.

For an odd reason, I long to spark a conversation, just to end the thick silence that settles between us as two complete strangers, polar opposites. Leading two very different lives. The uncomfortable feeling in my chest is almost unbearable.

As I open my mouth, intending on starting an awkward conversation - the topic still in question - he beats me to it. His voice uneasy and unfamiliar.

"So, er, you write for the school paper, huh?" Four comments, keeping his eyes trained on his shoes.

I am perplexed at his lack of confidence - mister popular should have no troubles with initiating in a conversation. However, what surprises me more is his statement; how could he know that I write for the paper? I was sure he didn't even know that I existed in his world of achievement, good grades and privilege.

"Oh-," I stammer, caught off guard. "Yeah.. yeah, I do. I didn't even realised anyone actually read it."

"They don't. I have bought every issue since the school newspaper started - initially I just wanted to mock the crappy stories published, but then I read one of your articles.." he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"You liked it?" I ask, curious to discover his opinion - it's hard to believe that a guy like Four religiously purchases and pours himself into something like a student-run paper. He certainly doesn't strike me as the type.

"Sure," he replies, honestly, causing me to arch an eyebrow. "Journalism isn't really my thing, but your articles were pretty interesting. Exceptionally well written."

"Oh, erm, thank you.." I murmur, ducking my head, overcome with bashfulness. "I didn't figure that someone like you would read the school paper.. especially considering how run down it's gotten from the budget cuts."

His soft tone suddenly snaps, and his eyes cut to mine, coldly. "Someone like me?"

His shift in nature should startle me, but his question only aggravates me - surely he must understand that for someone of his social status and reputation among students alike, taking an interest in anything aside from his sport is extremely out of character.

"Someone like you," I respond, firmly, unwavering; my anxiety flaring, yet my stubbornness refuses to be pushed aside. "The track star, everybody's favourite golden boy. A jock. Way too invested in their sport and self esteem to care about an underfunded extra curricular."

He laughs, a sharp and humourless burst of oxygen followed by a snarl, "Funny - in your articles you sound so articulate, relatable in the idea of creating something for everybody. No discrimination. No _stereotyping_."

"Funny," I mock, my defensive mechanisms kicking in to action. "Your reputation proceeds you; living up to the stereotype that is a typical jock. Always so quick to defend their egos, their reputation. You're no different to the other airheads."

"You really don't like me, huh," he smirks, using amusement to mask his rising temper. "You can assume all you like, Nancy Drew, but you don't know me as well as you think you do. Or at all."

"I don't like the way you pretend to be something you're not. I can only assume what I am presented with - future prom court royalty, the most likely to succeed, mister popular-,"

"Have you ever heard of the saying, never judge a book by its cover? A telltale snap judgment." Four interrupts, swiftly.

The blue eyes I admired before have only magnetised in their pull, almost swallowing me whole. I tear my gaze away from his, releasing a frustrated breath.

"I know a lot more than what you give me credit for," I tell him, my voice losing its hard edge. "I see a lot more too. If you aren't the same as every other meat head you surround yourself with, you can definitely put on a show."

"Are you always this frustrating?" He asks, almost accusingly. "We have been involved in a conversation for five whole minutes and already you have riled me up.. what's the deal?"

"If you learn to control your temper perhaps you may not become so riled over a simple observation." I snap back, flatly, keeping my eyes averted to the space before me, where the others are further up ahead.

"Well, if you weren't so judgmental I wouldn't have to control my temper." He retorts, losing his intimidation factor by cracking a smile, our squabbling reaching comical territory.

"Look, stereotyping or not, my experience with high school is exactly that - stereotype and prejudice. People are put into categories, whether we like it or not. And then we are labelled with certain characteristics. That's how it has always been." I explain, my tone softening and my plain annoyance ebbing.

"Just because I play a certain sport and choose to surround myself with a certain group of people doesn't mean I am like them," he protests, neutrally. "I'm a lot more than a golden boy. Just as you are probably a lot more than the girl who hides away in the shadows, out of sight."

"I don't _hide_."

"You aren't the only person who can observe in silence, Tris," he admonishes, and I fight the heat away from my cheeks. "You hide behind your articles and a scowl. But I'm willing to bet that there is more to you than that.. just like there is to me."

"Point taken..." I admit, reluctantly, glaring as a smug expression overtakes his strikingly handsome features. "Don't look so pleased with yourself. I'm still curious as to why you seem to know so much about me. I didn't even think you knew that I existed."

"Well, you noticed me too. In a much more calculating and investigative manner." He argues, dodging my accusation.

"It's hard not to notice," I scoff. "You parade around school with a team of assholes, leaving a string of broken hearted girls in your wake. The most popular guy in school? Yeah, I noticed."

He suddenly looks hurt, his electric eyes overcome with injustice. "Labelling me as a golden boy and a meat headed jock is one thing, but I'm not like the others guys on my team. I don't treat girls like dirt, or intentionally break their hearts."

"I hear the way girls talk about you," I shrug. "Whiny and lovesick one minute, then heartbroken and dismayed the other."

"I don't sleep around or date so flippantly. For me to notice a girl, she has to stand out, y'know?"

My heart begins to race, unsure of where he was going with that sentiment - do I stand out in his eyes? I cannot see how; I try my very best to blend in and lay low. A stubborn wallflower.

"Unlike my boys over there," he continues, gesturing to the Pedrad brothers who seem to be deep in their own respective games of flirtation. "I focus my energies on other things: school, track, college applications-"

" _College_? Already? We are barely even seniors! You can't be serious." I exclaim, taken aback. Even the earliest of applications aren't accepted until November.

"I want to be prepared," he shrugs, casually, contradicting the anxious tightening of his strong and defined jaw. "Scholarships are like gold dust. I want to scope out the best schools to make sure I am making the right choice."

"So that's your career goal? Running track professionally?" I ask, though I already know the answer; everybody in this town knows that boy is going places, taking his talent to the big leagues.

"Yeah," he confirms, stepping over a large pile of twigs. I can't help but notice the twinge of animosity in his affirmation. "Let me guess, you'll be packing your bags and heading for the bright lights of New York City. Holed up in a shoebox apartment as a successful journalist. Living the unorthodox and urban life of a struggling edgy young adult?"

For what feels like the very first time, a laugh escapes my lips. A light and carefree noise that warms my core with amusement. I forgot how good it felt to smile and to laugh without it being forced, pretending as to not let my mask slip.

"Something like that. Today the editor for the crappy school newspaper, tomorrow the chief of Manhattan News." I joke, a dry tone to my voice. Success to such magnitude doesn't happen for people like me.

"And it all started with the juicy expose of what the lunch-ladies _really_ put in their mystery meat loaf." Four banters back, his straight and clean set of teeth glinting in the sunlight as he smiles widely. It would be much easier to switch back to my usual brooding persona if he wasn't so damn hot. And funny.. seemingly intelligent too.

"If you don't mind me saying," he proceeds to add, the sincerity to his husky voice slowly returning. "I was pretty surprised when you agreed to join for milkshakes.. I've never seen you really interact with anybody at school. Always alone."

"Marlene roped me into it, and besides, who can resist a free milkshake." I respond, weakly. Still unsure of whether my decision to tag along was the right one. "And besides, the girls seem nice. Nicer than I had anticipated. Especially compared to the others at school."

"Assholes on the football team have got nothing on mean girls - guys have a fight, they throw a couple punches and it's over. But girls don't play fair. They gang up, keep secrets, plot.."

"They could cut you down with a look." I agree, solemnly. I wince internally, remembering the locker room incident last semester. A verbal attack initiated by Nita and her minions. The wicked glint in her eye as she fired vile words from a machine gun, trigger happy.

By now we have emerged from the woods, tracking downhill toward the town square, feet smacking against the warm cobblestone. The others are still way ahead, jeering and playfully shoving, their laughter travelling backward to fall upon our ears.

"I assume some of the girls at school give you a hard time?" Four asks, taking a shot in the dark and hitting the target effortlessly.

"Nothing I can't handle," I reply, coldly. "Mean looks, a few nasty comments here and there. Usually they just leave me be."

"I'm sure. If you can run a whole newspaper by yourself, a gang of deplorable girls must be a walk in the park."

"I take no notice. Retaliating only adds fuel to the fire. Besides I've had much-" I stop myself immediately, screening my lips shut. Almost letting it slip. Somehow, the most secretive of words almost came tumbling carelessly from my mouth. So at ease with his presence beside me, our conversation somewhat flowing freely now. The hostility lost.

"Much what?" He asks, slowly, his eyes narrowed questionably.

"Practice," I tell him, smoothly covering my mistake. "I have had much practice in dealing with mean girls. Eventually you get used to the constant drama."

Before he can respond to my lie, a voice calls up to us from the bottom of the hill. Zeke sarcastically yelling, "Hurry up. I want to get to the cafe _before_ tomorrow night."

Four shakes his head, grinning, casting me a challenging glance. "Race you."

In a split second, he is running away, descending the hilltop at maximum speeds. His long and muscular legs working hard in large strides, and I watch in a stationary position as the distance between us extends by the seconds that lapse by.

As I stand still, registering everything that just transpired - remembering the contrast in his soft and inquisitive gaze, to his hard and cold stare - a small smile involuntarily tugs against the hard line of my lips.

His ability to stand up for himself, to have a civil and intelligent conversation, surprised me. All this time, I have looked at his cliche letterman jacket, his picture perfect life, his effortless claim to popularity, and labelled him an airhead. A deluded and self obsessed jock with nothing more to him than prize medals and vanity. I never even gave him a chance.

My certainty has crumbled, for within no more than twenty minutes, this boy has twisted my whole ideals of stereotypes upside down. He has transcended and tarnished any assumptions or categorisation. In turn destroying all of my knowledge on the social scale. Disproving my theory so carelessly, it is almost impossible.

Still graced with the same strikingly fantastic features - his defined jaw and cheekbones, the ocean blue eyes that leave girls halting in their tracks - yet there is more to him now, at least to what I believed beforehand. Stubborn, amusing, defensive, smart and enlightened. He is most definitely more than what meets the eye.

Smiling slightly to myself, I tighten my ponytail and chase after him, the sun shining on my back as my feet dart across the pathway. And in this moment, my feet falling heavily against the ground, I feel as if I am finally running toward something, as opposed to away. I am moving toward something new.

I thought I knew everything there was to know about Four Eaton.. I couldn't have been more wrong.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Whoo the fourth chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed our first interaction with the iconic couple!**

 **I wanted to keep their introduction a combination of tension, judgment and softness; Tris is not the kind of girl to lose her stubborn and calculating nature under the intense gaze of even the most handsome of boys!**

 **I had a lot of fun writing this, let me know if you enjoyed this chapter! I read all of your reviews and if you have any questions, feel free to PM me :)**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	5. Chapter 5

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 5 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

In a sudden and unexpected turn of events, I have somehow found myself squashed unceremoniously into a scarlet leather booth.

Trapped between a large window and Zeke's shoulder, directly across from the brooding blonde, who is caged in by an over-enthusiastic Christina. The others have also managed to squeeze into the small booth, fitting all eight of us into seating for four. A round of milkshakes adorning the wide tabletop.

I reign in my envy as I watch them indulge in their cold shakes, taking a sip of my own low-fat fruit smoothie; my training plan is pretty strict on my dietary concerns. No food high in calories, soda, fast food and very little high proteins.

Being in such high intensity training, _the old bean_ c _afe_ is the hardest place to hang out - the scent of baking is sweet and warm, radiating from the kitchens. The aroma wraps itself around me like a hug. I find that the temptation is near impossible to ignore.

To my misfortune, I spot a waiter pass by our booth with an array of cupcakes balanced on a tray. Topped with strawberries and undoubtedly filled with fluffy cream. My stomach growls, and I squirm in my seat.

Diverting my attention away from my cravings, I allow my eyes to flicker across the booth, briefly drinking in the soft blonde tresses, charcoal eyes and beautiful angles upon her face. Yet as quickly as they looked her way, I force my eyes to bat back down to my smoothie glass.

I thought that I knew everything about Tris that was worth knowing: a social pariah, a talented journalist, a shy and bitter girl hidden behind a constant scowl and shadowed expression.

Despite her wallflower-like tendencies and closed off exterior - making her completely unnoticeable to everybody else - _I_ noticed.

I should have known, I should have foreseen that her seemingly shy and nervous outward persona was a facade. Beneath the layers of seclusion and silence is a badass, opinionated girl with a fiery yet honest tongue.

My assumptions are still true; it is clear to me, even within a single heated conversation, she certainly hides away behind a wicked glare. For what reason, I am not sure. But I realise now that there is a lot more to the savvy amateur journalist than I had expected.

My curiosity has peaked, intrigued to know what makes her tick, what inspires and upsets her. To get inside of her head and see what lives there, to bathe in the sunlight of her words and shiver in the shadows of her mind.

 _I_ noticed, and for whatever reason, I don't think I can pretend that I didn't.

A beautiful girl with enchanting eyes and a mystery that I am determined to solve.

With only a handful of real friends, I can truthfully declare that I have little interest for the mindless people in this small town. I rarely consider the feelings of others or their lives outside of competition or classes. Yet, the same stubborn determination I feel when I am competing floods over my conscience like a chilling wave.

I _want_ to know Tris Prior.

"I did _not_ ," Christina laughs, slamming her manicured hands down onto the table, pulling me from my stupor. "I did not lay a single finger on her, so quit with those blatant implications!"

"Whatever. Just remind me not to get on your bad side." Uriah teases, holding up both hands in a faux surrender.

"It may be a little too late for that." Marlene chimes in, shaking her head with a little giggle.

"I agree with my little brother," Zeke adds, kicking Uriah indiscreetly under the table with a grin. "You're a little scary. I'd say that Lauren is lucky that you supposedly didn't lay a finger-"

"You guys are _unbelievable_ ," the dramatic brunette declares, taking a long sip of her chocolate shake. "And besides, even if I _did_ , she would have deserved it."

"I'm sure that splattering your designer handbag in paint was an accident.." Shauna reasons, weakly, defeated by her own argument.

"Oh yeah, and so was her snarky look following the fake ass apology. But being the genuine and forgiving girl that I am, I dealt with situation calmly and rationally."

"And by calmly and rationally you mean emptying a whole tube of paint over her head?" Uriah asks, arching an eyebrow in amusement.

"Exactly." She agrees, flashing him an award-winning smile.

Sharing a few classes with the caramel-skinned spitfire, a paint war is not surprising. The tale of their newfound rivalry spread like wildfire.

The others continue to bicker and banter amongst themselves regarding the recent art room bust-up between the two girls, and I once again avert my eyes over to the silent blonde, daring to nudge her foot with my own under the table. Her head snaps upward, eyes flashing to meet mine with a mixture of apprehension and irritation.

"That would have made an interesting article," I tell her quietly, gesturing with my head to the loud conversation taking place beside us. "Headlining as a front page spread - _Painting Plunder._ "

"What about, _Canvas Calamity_ ," she responds, her eyes glinting with an unfamiliar amusement. "It would have been the scoop of the year. But you know what they say, old news is no news."

"Perhaps you could write a detailed and informative piece on why our overweight gym teacher wears a crop top, and the benefits." I suggest, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively as she grimaces.

"Mr Henderson's crop top is not something that I would like to think about, let alone feature in my paper." Tris shudders, swirling the straw of her milkshake around aimlessly in the thick vanilla beverage.

"I don't know, I'm intrigued as to where he buys these infamous articles of clothing. Or rather, which baby gap he purchases them from." I joke, the corners of my eyes creasing as I smile through my comical words.

Her unexpected giggle softens the room, vibrant and heart warming. I never anticipated to hear her laugh at all, and knowing that I was able to entice a harmonious chuckle from her is enough to stretch my lips into a toothy grin. The amusement rolls out of her in waves, and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle it.

"What," I prod, teasingly. "You can't imagine Mr Henderson prowling around the aisles of baby gap looking for a nice new outfit?"

Tris shakes her head and hides her face in her hands, chortling into her palms. "Gosh, you are insufferable."

I take a sip of my own smoothie as I wait for her to compose herself, watching on in amusement as she peaks at me through her fingers, cheeks flushed. Embarrassed by her own contagious and angelic laughter.

"What are you two cackling about over there?" Uriah asks, narrowing his eyes playfully as he peers in our direction. Unable to suppress his curiosity.

"Who cares," Zeke smirks, bumping my shoulder with his own. "If Tris can get my boy to grin like that, they could be laughing about a nuclear apocalypse for all I care."

"Guys, look who it is," Marlene hisses, glancing over in the direction of the doorway. "The devil incarnate herself."

We all turn our gazes to the other end of Marlene's stare, and I internally groan at the revelation - Nita Pablos and her henchmen, Peter Hayes and Eric Matthews. The trio of bullies that rule Allegiant High, or at least they like to think that they do. In my peripheral vision, I spot Tris hang her head and shrink into herself.

We hold our breaths as they look around for a free table, unfortunately landing on our crowd of eight - an unorthodox and strange group of people - their placid expressions morphing to ones of chaos and mischief. And with experience, I know that is never a good thing.

I watch with a scowl as Nita grabs Eric's wrist and leads him over to our booth, Peter trailing behind with a smug smile. My fist clenches beneath the table, my undying hatred for the trio only intensifying as they decrease the distance between us and them. So much for the fun afternoon that I was promised.

"Hey guys," Nita coos with an exaggerated enthusiasm. "Is this meeting of the losers club invite only, or can anybody join?"

"Nice to see you too." Uriah mutters, curling his lip. It is odd to see him respond in such a bitter fashion; he is known for his humour and kindness to all.

"I wish I could say the same," she retorts, sourly, before turning back to her accomplices. "C'mon guys, I'm not hanging around here to share the same air as book boy and suicide squad."

Will bows his head at her comment, identifying that 'book boy' is referring to him. He adjusts his glasses as his cheeks flood with a crimson tide. Looking as if she had outstretched a hand and slapped him harshly across the face.

I expect Tris to follow in pursuit - recognising the cruel glare delivered by Nita, labelling her as 'suicide squad' - but she just snorts under her breath, amused by the situation at hand. Suddenly curling out from the shell she seemed to shrink into as their presence was realised.

"Something funny?" Peter sneers, his cruel tone contradicting his leering gaze.

"Back off, man." Zeke steps in, his voice cool and collected for the moment.

"Actually, yes," Tris replies, smoothly, resting her elbows upon the tabletop with an easy mocking smile. "Nita's nicknames just keep getting better and better. I mean, suicide squad, fan girl freak, fat lard, weirdo.. with all that creativity, you could earn a lesser sentence by running art classes when you end up in _jail_. The only place that would willingly accept you for more than five weeks without tiring of your bullshit."

Zeke lets out a roar of laughter, flinging his head back, followed in pursuit by Uriah who slams his hand against the table in hysterics.

I allow a small smile to spread across my face; in all of her mysterious and brooding exterior, there lies a spitfire beneath, confident and unafraid. Judging by the astounded expression adorning Nita's perfectly made-up face, this side of the tiny blonde is also very new to her.

"She's got a bit of a tongue on her," Eric whistles, eyeing her up and down, a new and appreciative glint in his steely eyes. "What's your real name, sweetheart?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." She spits back through a scoff, visibly repulsed by his lingering eyes and suggestive tone.

"Like her parents would even bother giving her a name." Nita chimes in, annoyed by her boyfriends shameless flirting.

"Miaow," the star quarterback smirks, looking at the cruel brunette tucked under his arm. "Finished your saucer of milk, have you?"

"I'm surprised she hasn't curdled it," Christina sniggers, her pretty face clouded with a dark shadow of undisguised hatred. "Honestly, Nita, like we'd want to have to share the same air with _you_ , anyway"

"Now, now, Kravitz," Peter clicks his tongue, smugly. Leaning against the side of our booth. "Let's keep it civil. I expect you will all be making an appearance at my party next week? Open invite, so tell everybody who doesn't already know."

"Not that we really want you there," Nita adds, for good measure, scornfully. "It's tradition to play a few games.. we need the numbers. So as long as you stay out of our way, there will be no problems."

"Games?" I scoff, unable to suppress my opinion any longer. All the pent-up frustration from watching them interact with Tris with such disrespect bubbling to the surface. "What is this, kindergarten?"

Eric shoots me a dark look, but refrains from biting back. The other two ignore my comment entirely. They may be stupid, but they aren't stupid enough to insult me. Not when I could easily kick them to the social outcasts on their asses.

"What kind of games are we talking about here?" Zeke adds, skeptically. Yet I also see the familiar adventurous glint in his eyes. He is always up for a challenge.

Nita taps a finger to her nose, indicating her silence. "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you."

"What about you, Blondie?" Eric asks, drawing his gaze back to Tris who arches an eyebrow. "I hope to see you there too. Wear something tight."

" _Pig_." Shauna mutters, curling her lip at his misogynistic attitude. I also scowl in his direction; there is an uncomfortable feeling in my chest, and I do not like the way he is watching her. He will hurt her.

"Come on. Let's go and find somewhere cool to hang.. I can't take much more of these circus freaks." Nita huffs, turning away from our booth with a flick of her locks, storming to the door in her expensive wedged sneakers. The two boys turn away and saunter across the cafe in pursuit, hands shoved into their pockets. Casual yet intimidating to those occupying tables around them.

" _Circus freaks,_ " Marlene mutters, darkly. "Who does she think she is? And what on earth makes them think we would _want_ to show up to their pathetic party?"

"I don't know.." Uriah trails off, seemingly intrigued. "Peter's parties are legendary. And we have all been invited. It's too good of an opportunity!"

"I heard at the last one Shay Green fell out of the treehouse into the neighbours pool and got arrested when they called the cops." Zeke chips in with a grin.

"Bullshit," I snort. "There's no way that's true. And besides, I would rather watch a whole wall of paint dry than go to one of their parties."

"You know what, I think we should go," Christina protests, sending me an encouraging glance. "What's the harm? A night to kick back, get wasted and enjoy ourselves! Like Nita said, as long as we stay out of her way, there will be no issue."

I don't believe that for one minute; Nita Pablos is not the kind of girl whose word you take as solid truth. She is the worst kind of mean, the lowest of the low. She makes fun of the other girls and flirts with all the guys. Nita is the kind of girl that you just want to shove into a locker upon the opportunity.

"What about you, Tris?" Shauna asks, and I watch Tris do a double take. Both puzzled and incredulous. "What d'you say? You should totally come along."

"Parties aren't my thing." she answers, shortly, retracting her gaze and looking out of the window instead. Not surprising me in the slightest.

"Please," Christina begs, tugging on her arm. "We could get ready at my place! I could get us some wine coolers, and I can help you with your makeup!"

"Count us in. It sounds like fun," Marlene concedes, nudging Shauna who nods along. "Tris, c'mon. It will be fun! Take a chance, eh?"

"Um.. I don't know.."

"Just say yes. Just say it! We'll look after you. You don't even have to speak to anybody else if you have us. We would really love it if you just said yes!"

"No pressure," Shauna hisses, and I sense that she must have kicked the excitable brunette beneath the table. "Listen, how about I give you my number? That way, if you change your mind, you can let us know. But don't let us pressure you in to anything, ok?"

"Okay." Tris agrees, looking relieved at the peaceful approach. I watch her with curious eyes, wondering what her final decision will be.. and whether it will effect my own.

After another half hour of laughing, bickering and joking around, we mutually decide to disperse and go our separate ways. Christina leaves the cash on the table to cover our bill, waving away our thanks with a smile.

I know that it is much later than I had originally intended to stay out, and that my mom will be furious when I return, but I still can't bring myself to walk in the direction of my empty shell of a house. Filled with the hollow silence of grief.

Shauna swaps numbers with Tris and the girls embrace the awkward blonde in a group hug, startling her momentarily. Her grey eyes are wide and surprised, yet there is a sudden warmth in her small smile. Her _contagious_ smile. They leave together in a huddle of three, all smiles and linked arms, laughing and stumbling over one another giddily.

Zeke, Uriah and Will head in the opposite direction, deep in a conversation about which Star Wars movie takes the crown. They push and shove like old pals, including Will in their antics without fail, accepting him with wide smiles. Their kindness palpable.

I watch in dismay as Tris makes a move to walk away too, and in a split second decision, I light grab ahold of her wrist. She spins around, tugging it out of my grasp, her expression morphing from neutral to a combination of frightened and furious.

"Sorry," I quickly apologise, caught off guard by her odd reaction to an innocent gesture. "I, er, just wanted to see if you would like me to.. walk you home, maybe?"

Walking her home seems like the best solution to my internal struggle - I would be able to prolong my time outside of the house, and find out more about the strange girl with the magnetic pull.

I want to decipher just what is going on inside of her head, even if only a small corner. It is an odd urge that I had no idea I was even capable of - the primal need to get to know somebody.

"I'm a big girl," she snaps, but her face softens a little as she notices my anxiety; something else new and unfamiliar to me. "I tie my own shoes and everything."

"I didn't mean to imply- I just thought it would be a nice thing to do, I don't know. Forget I asked. I'll see you around." I mutter, moving around her to get on my way, mentally smacking myself for acting like such an idiot. What is wrong with me? Four Eaton does _not_ get tongue tied.

"Wait," she calls after a moment, and I turn around with a great hesitation. She looks uneasy, chewing on her lower lip. "I can't go home.. but that doesn't mean you can't take me on a walk."

I am conflicted by her confession - my head is reeling with questions, and my curiosity is spiked. I can't help but feel surprised too; for a girl who has spent each year of high school hidden away in the shadows, she is sure taking advantage of the sudden rays of light. I am also strangely pleased at the prospect of spending more time with her.

"I thought you'd never ask," I smile, wandering back over to the nervous, beautiful blonde with a newfound confidence. "The beach?"

"Lead the way." Tris agrees, a sudden shyness about her as splashes of pink paint her cheeks.

We walk alongside one another, a comfortable silence settling between us. Silences can often be unnerving, especially in these irregular situations - two strangers thrown together for merely a few hours, taking a leap of faith. Yet the beautiful tranquility between us is calming and a contented sigh escapes my lips, relaxing all of my muscles.

Cutting my eyes over to her, I notice she is distracted by the horizon before us, the beach becoming closer and closer with every footstep. The glinting blue surf already visible from afar.

Taking the advantage of her distraction, I allow my eyes to trail over her face slowly. Not rushing, no longer bashful or sloppy. I have no idea how I brought myself to stay away from her, or to only spare the occasional glance - she is truly magical. It is no surprise that she ensnared Eric's attention.

My eyes dare to flick downward, noting just how small and delicate she is. Dainty, if you will. She has a slender, curving waist and a cute butt, hidden modestly by her attire.

My cheeks heat up, snapping my head away. I feel rude and inappropriate, checking out a girl that I barely even know, especially a girl as headstrong and fiery as Tris. However, it is hard not to acknowledge her beauty.

"So," I begin, diverting my attention onto something more appropriate. "Tell me about you."

"There's not much to know. Sorry to disappoint. What you see is what you get. I don't hide behind a mask."

"You and I both know that isn't true," I persist. "That isn't how this works - you're supposed to tell me about you. The real you."

"Care to enlighten me on what _this_ is exactly?" She questions, dodging my accusation as I have found that she often does.

"Creating a friendship," I inform her, casually, ignoring the thumping of my heart. "Getting to know each other. Likes, dislikes, hobbies, weird fetishes-"

"Weird fetishes?" she sniggers, rolling her eyes. "And who said I want to be your friend? Very presumptuous of you."

"May I remind you, it was _your_ idea to take a walk. It would be an odd thing to suggest to somebody you had no intentions of making friends with, wouldn't you agree?"

"Maybe I just want to find out more about Allegiant High's wonder boy," she shrugs, nonchalantly, but I don't miss the blush on her cheeks. "Which in no way makes us _friends_ , ok?"

"You're doing it again!" I laugh, pointing a finger in her direction.

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything!"

"Are too," I argue back, childishly. "You are pushing me away by refusing to admit that you are just like everybody else - you _want_ friends, you _want_ to belong. The edgy social outcast act doesn't fly with me."

"I reject that accusation," she scoffs, defensively. "And you have no room to call anyone else out on pretending - you act like an air-headed jock just to fit in. If anybody is the fraud, it's you!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

By now, we have reached the beach. The dimming sunlight reflects beautifully on the water, the waves lapping at the shore is like a symphony that only I can hear. Special and unique to each individual that listens. The salty ocean breeze tickles the tips of my ears, and I can taste it on my lips.

Watching the waves crash and kiss the shore, I turn to Tris with a smirk on my lips and ask casually, "Want to try something fun?"

She watches me with an apprehensive gaze, still frustrated from our bickering, her eyes slowly narrowing as she mulls over my offer. Untrusting and unsure. Her expression only deepens as I instinctively hold out my hand for her to clasp onto.

Reluctantly, she accepts my hand, twisting her fingers around mine and pushing our palms close together. Sliding together like two pieces of a puzzle. Silently laying a piece of her trust into my possession.

Pulling on her hand, I drag her across the sand, breaking out into a run. We hurtle across the sand as she squeals with laughter and I join in, the real and pure joy rumbling through my chest for the second time today.

The regulations of my training program peel away and I stop caring about my diet, my puzzling intrigue for the girl hanging onto my hand, and the labels that hang over my head like a dark cloud. None of that matters.

We reach the waters edge and I kick off my shoes and socks, abandoning them in the sand, noticing Tris copying me from my peripheral vision. The next moment, I am in the water, splashing and laughing, kicking up long plumes of surf. It feels childish, exhilarating.

"Now," I announce once Tris has joined me in the water, the waves splashing against her thighs and just under my knees. "The important bit - when I was little, my mom used to tell me that you are supposed to make wishes at the waters edge, and they almost always come true."

"You're crazy," she exclaims, shaking her head and shivering from the cold water. "Wishes never come true."

"It won't work unless you believe," I scold, teasingly. "We are going to make a wish. For sunshine, milkshakes, and new _friendship_."

Rolling her eyes, she willingly grasps my hand once more and I dip them down into the water, intertwined securely. I scrunch my eyes closed and wish for what I want the most - _the freedom to choose my own destiny._

"You are insane," she squeals, once a particularly large wave crashes into us, pulling away. "Look at me, I'm soaked through!"

I take a moment to watch her as she splashed around to avoid oncoming waves, smiling effortlessly. This is a side to Tris that I didn't know existed in such a carefree manner - so happy, at ease and adorably girly. I know that my grin matches hers, undoubtedly.

"Did you make a wish?" I ask as we wade our way back to the sand, our clothes damp with salt water.

"I did." She admits, her smile a little shyer now, possibly realising her overjoyed response and how it completely proved my earlier argument: her hard exterior is not irreversible if payed the right attention. It just takes someone to notice.

"Well, I hope it comes true," I reply, flopping down on the wet sand beside my sneakers, the waves lapping at my feet. "Wishes _can_ come true, you know."

"I haven't laughed that much in.. so long," she admits, joining me on the sand, stretching out her legs. "You're different. You aren't like the others, are you?"

"Not a bit. I know it can come across that way, but just like you, the way others see me isn't who I truly am. It's easier that way." I tell her, seriously, gazing out over the ocean.

"I meant it when I said that I don't pretend," she responds after a pause. "I don't pretend to be dark and closed off. It's the way I am. But maybe.. maybe I do kid myself a little bit. I tell myself that being alone means that nobody can touch me.. but it gets really lonely sometimes."

"You don't have to be lonely," I whisper, feeling the need to lower my voice into a gentle address. "Perhaps this summer could be- I don't know, a new beginning."

"I have no idea why I'm here. Or why I'm even telling you this stuff. I don't even know you.." Tris responds, softly, keeping her face angled away from my own.

"Then get to know me," I shrug, simply. "I mean the real me, not the guy that everybody thinks that I am. Including you. Drop the scowl and your idea of stereotypes and we can just get to know each other. Without the labels and the bullshit reputations."

"Reputations," she mutters, flatly, her shoulders drooping. "Yours would be tarnished if anyone saw us becoming friends. Like mix with like, Four, and we are not alike."

"Why do you care what people think?" I ask, bluntly, shifting my eyes to watch her face as she responds.

"You've never had somebody look at you the way people look at me. The way they would look at _us_." Tris tells me, weakly, locking our eyes as if for the very first time.

"Let them look, let them glare and stare and gawp. I don't care. Labels don't define you unless you let them, and frankly, I am done being tied down by other people. The only thing holding you back after that is _you_. I noticed you, and I noticed the cracks beneath your facade. I noticed, ok? Screw what everybody else says. Us being friends is happening. Fuck whoever says otherwise." I declare, determinedly. My headstrong nature startling her momentarily, before a soft smile graces her features.

"You are not what I expected, wonder boy..."

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Chapter 5! I worked super hard on this chapter and is my longest so far, so I hope you guys enjoyed! I found it so heart warming to write about their connection, especially from Tobias' POV!**

 **Thanks for all the support so far, make sure Tina leave me a review and let me know what you think - the praise and the constructive criticism. All civilised review are welcomed!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 6 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

The town library is a crumbling aged building, standing self-importantly between a building society and small legal office. Disregarded and overlooked. An unsightly piece of history, neglected with time and modern day technology.

I push open the heavy swing door and enter the large labyrinth of dusty bookshelves, a chessboard tiled floor beneath my feet. The dozens of shelves fan out from the foyer, a maze of A-Z adventures.

Five or six people sit at the small tables, working meticulously. Shuffling papers and pages. One man sits in a thickly knitted Christmas sweater, reading a children's picture book - the town's local head-case, Crazy Harrington. The very man who claims he can talk to spirits and see the future.

I veer to the right and disappear into the first row of shelves. The bookcases heave under the weight of old volumes; unlike its precious cargo, the wood is cheap and weak, more equipped for light-endowed romance novels than the heavy words of philosophers.

I wander through the wooden jungle, forming what once was my childhood playpen. Now it is my escape. Walking between the shelves is like coming home, I've memorised their scent: dust and wisdom, paper and creativity, ink and emotion. They are quilts of writing, and as an avid reader and aspiring-wordsmith, I can appreciate that.

I navigate my way to the journalism section, sifting through old articles in search of some kind of an archive - one that could tell me a little history of the town and the land.

Mrs Myers down at the bakery is convinced that her plot of land was a burial ground for soldiers that perished in the civil war. She has offered me a good sum of money to write an exposé on the rich history to draw in more customers, intrigued by the past. With that amount of money on the table, I could hardly refuse.

Besides, I rather enjoy investigative pieces. I rarely turn down an opportunity to access my inner Nancy Drew and solve the mystery. I guess I have always been a sucker for the thrill of mysteries, and the hardship of coming to the final conclusion.

I gather an armful of monochrome articles and retire to an empty table, furthest away from the nearest person. I lay out my articles chronologically as I sit, setting them before me with perfect precision. Making room for my run-down laptop that is stashed away in my backpack.

The first stack is a couple of daily papers, dated way back into the 1800's - a mountain of close typed black ink, the best and worst of the parochial news. The before and aftermath of the civil war. Our state, Rhode Island, being a part of the Union states that remained loyal to the United States, ultimately winning the civil war.

My fingers flash over the keys of my laptop like lightening, typing up my findings and sorting them into categories for a perfect expose plan. Like every article I put my mind to, I will deliver nothing less than my very best effort.

I continue to devour through article after article, paper after paper, writing up every key detail and date, searching for any leads that could indicate the burial of brave soldiers. Yet every time I manage to grasp onto something, the floor is pulled out from under me and I am back to square one.

I slump back in my hard chair, distraught and dismayed upon reaching a dead end in my search. But if I am anything, I am stubborn and equally as determined. I _will_ deliver this article.

My eyes threaten to flutter closed, the severe sleep deprivation from this past week slowly chipping away at my mind. I am running solely on cheap cups of coffee and energy drinks.

Every night has been a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts. Each and every one rooting back to a specific boy with deep blue eyes and a melodic laugh. A boy that has been a complete and utter stranger for the entire week that we have been apart, after our spontaneous and completely strange connection at the beach.

I shouldn't be surprised, of course; he was probably just being nice, taking pity on a girl with no friends and no real purpose. If it were any other time, place or person, I know that I could forget about it with a scowl and a consuming nap.. not on this occasion.

He saw right through my mask, he wasn't afraid to question and stand up to me. Whatever he evoked in me that day is not being pushed out as easily as I had originally hoped.

I decide to stretch my legs a little to wake me up and refresh my mind, seeking inspiration in anything that offers it. Heading away from my stack of papers and tattered laptop, I slip into a row of shelves, finding myself within the murder mystery section. Fictional tales with shocking twists and turns, gruesome and enchanting.

I pick up a hardback copy of an Agatha Christie mystery, skimming my fingers along the spine as my eyes scan the words adorning the front cover. I have never read the novel itself - only ever divulging in her stories of the detective Hercule Poirot and his clever adventures.

"Murder on the Orient Express," a deep voice says from behind me, the alluring timbre startling me. "I admit I had you pegged as more of a Shakespeare kind of girl."

I flash around, a combination of sheer horror and an unfamiliar warmth washing over me at the sight of the boy who has been preventing my sleep for the past seven days. Peering over my shoulder to read the title of the book clasped in my hands.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, exasperatedly, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

"I wanted to check out some reading material for the summer. I am all out of new and exciting books, and without them, I will lose at least five hundred brain cells before school even starts back up again."

"If you're looking for new and exciting then you have come to the wrong place." I mutter in return, slotting the book back into its rightful place.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He asks, repeating my question with a smirk.

"Research." I answer simply, skirting around him with rosy cheeks, intending on returning to the journalism sector to search through some more articles for reference.

"What kind of research?" He enquiries, trailing after me with determination. "Are you working on a new article?"

"You ask too many questions," I roll my eyes. "And yes, if you must know. I've been tasked with a historic exposé to draw in more tourists. Not the most glamorous of work, mind you."

"Every great writer has to start somewhere," he objects, sickeningly optimistic. "Besides, this means that your being picked up on your articles. This could get you some buzz, right?"

"Right. What a stir I will cause with a bland piece on incredibly boring civil war history." I answer, dryly.

"So find a way to jazz it up a bit," Four tells me, as if the answer should be entirely obvious and simple. "Be creative. Don't just give the facts, give the culture and exaggerate the importance of whatever it is you are digging in to."

"It's impossible to jazz up a _war_. Whole regiments perished during the civil war, not only is it nearly unachievable to shed a positive, family-friendly light onto the matter, it is also very insensitive. I want to enlighten people, not offend them."

"Ok, ok," he concedes, raising his hands up in a mock surrender as he leans against a nearby bookcase. "Colour me clueless."

"If you're done offering awful advice, I have an article to write." I add, my tone void of any warm feeling. The unreasonable and slightly unfair resentment still lingering.

"I want to apologise first," he suddenly admits, his teasing tone deflating. "I don't know if you noticed or not that I didn't call you this week.. I wanted to, believe me. But my mom freaked on me, almost tripled my training schedule. I barely had time to shower-"

"I didn't notice," I bluff, forcefully casual. "It's not like I was _expecting_ a call of anything. In fact, it didn't surprise me at all."

"You aren't mad?" He asks, cautiously. As if approaching a wild animal.

"Why would I be? I have no right to be mad, which I'm _not_. You don't have to explain yourself to me. It's not like I waited around, I wasn't expecting you to call, anyhow. I'm fine." I respond, lightly, angling my face away from his to disguise my frustration.

"I'm fine is the universal language for not fine," he retaliates, flatly. "Tris, c'mon. Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" I chuckle, humourlessly, grabbing my findings and moving past him carelessly. "Do you want me to collapse into your arms and thank you profusely for an apology? It's not like we're friends, you don't owe me a thing. We hung out one time. It's not a big deal, ok-"

He gently hangs onto my elbow, pulling me back to him. I act on instinct and flinch away, my shoulders hunched over, subconsciously bracing myself for a fist to collide with my face. I clasp my papers to my chest and close my eyes, using my narrow shoulders as a weak shield to the hail of blows I expect to be rained down on me.

"Tris.." He says, his voice sweet-tempered and solicitous. Not the choleric diabolical drawl I was expecting. "Relax. It's just me. It's okay."

My mind is submerged in a state of inescapable panic, horrifying images of blood and bruises and broken door hinges haunt every thought that passes. I can feel tight fingers gripping my skin all over, unyielding and excruciating. I am never touched unless it is with angry fists and harrowing hands around my throat.

An invisible gag is shoved into my mouth; an equally ghostly hypodermic of adrenaline pierces my heart, unloading in an instant. I can feel my ribs heaving with effort, as if bounded and restrained by rope.

My head is a spinning carousel of thoughts, each pushing my mind further into the darkness. I want to run; I need to freeze and remember exactly where I am and who stands before me but it is all just a blur.

It is like I am not inside of my own body anymore, powerless to stop the wave of anxiety, trapped in a hurricane of plaguing thoughts. Heading down my own path to self-destruction.

The pain and lack of sleep building up has finally bubbled to the surface in a severe panic attack, numbing my thoughts and my body. Leaving me subjected to the torment of my own mind.

The room begins to spin and I drop my newspaper clippings, squatting on the floor to balance myself, unable to carry my own weight. I lean against the nearest book shelf, clasping a hand over my mouth to contain my sounds. Not wanting to draw any unwanted attention from the people occupying the paperback jungle.

"Tris," a voice whispers, the tonality pacifying and honeyed. "Open your eyes. Look at me, only me. Focus on me."

I follow the soothing voice and flutter my eyes open, pushing through the heaviness of my kids. As requested, I focus on the two endless oceans trapped within his eyes. Blues of light and dark overlapping like waves, glittering with sincerity and comfort.

"You are safe. It's just me, I'm not going to hurt you." He murmurs, drawing me back to a conscious state, my anxiety dulling from its ferocious roar. A lighthouse, his beams of light piercing through my dark fog and guiding me to safety.

After another minute or two, my breathing evens out and my heart stops racing. I let out a sigh of relief, the ropes constricting my lungs coming lose and falling away with this first steady breath.

I notice that Four's hands remained by his sides the entire time, presumably terrified of worsening my attack and sending me into a bigger spiral. His touch, although electrifying, is something that I don't think I could ever get used to.

While exciting and in all aspects completely thrilling, physical contact will always be associated with danger and alarm. I don't know if that will ever go away. Unexpected gestures like pulling me back - no matter the clear good intention - are a sure way to send me into a whirlwind of destruction.

"I'm so sorry," I croak, feeling the immediate need to apologise for my breakdown. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising. It's ok, just _breathe_. There is absolutely nothing to apologise for, so don't." Four assures me, firmly. Leaving no room for any kind of argument.

"I need some air." I tell him, my words muffled by my hands that cover my face out of embarrassment. He must think I am such a freak. And he would be right.

Without waiting around for a response, I scramble to my feet on wobbly legs, striding out of the aisle and navigating my way back to the foyer. Ignoring the tremble of muscles in my legs, I push through the heavy door and take a gasp of fresh summer air, grateful for a change in atmosphere.

The sun beats down onto my exposed skin, my clothing meticulously adjusted to cover every scar and burn and fading bruise. It is easier to breathe out here, the air simpler to swallow.

The door swings open and closed for the second time, signifying Four's pursuit and steadying presence beside me. His place next to me is enough for a complete sense of tranquility to flood my veins, the aftermath of every attack - the moments of calm after the effects of the storm.

Fumbling in my pocket, I pull out my pack of cigarettes and crappy lighter. I light up and bring the white curvature of peace to my lips, inhaling the toxic fumes and revelling in the poison.

I take slow drags, feeling my lungs being wrapped up in a warm blanket and a sense of delight, a huge change from the intense trauma I had experienced within the library.

I can feel Four's stare burning into the side of my head, slightly judgemental and curious. Startled by my bad habit. I can't imagine he has been around cigarettes very often, let alone ever tried one. God knows his training program would never allow it.

I slump down onto the stone steps as I take another long drag, closing my eyes as the smoke travels down my throat, smooth and silky. My head still buzzes with thoughts and a perplexed stream of conscience, but my heart is stronger now, successfully beating and palpitating.

"I know you told me to stop apologising," I eventually mutter as he sits down beside me, hesitantly. "But I'm sorry that you had to witness that. If I had any control over it-"

"You don't have control over it. I understand that, and I'm just glad that you are okay.. I'm not going to ask - and I know that you wouldn't answer my questions, anyway - but.. I don't want you to be scared of me. I won't hurt you."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I was just overwhelmed. You surprised me by showing up, I don't take well to surprises." I lie, masking my guilt with a scoff.

"When I touched you.. it was like you thought I was going to, I don't know, hit you?" He replies, tentatively. "Like I said, I'm not going to ask. It's not my place and you've been through enough without me interrogating you."

"You don't have to stay with me. Thanks for helping me, but don't feel obligated to babysit me.. I suppose you have a lot to get on with."

"The only place that I need to be is right here," he insists. "Friends don't abandon each other in times of trouble or need. Good friends stick together."

"You're still hung up on that whole friends thing?" I ask, coldly. "You're a nice guy, Four - and I never thought I'd be able to say that. But being friends with me is more trouble than it's worth. I-I'm not good for you."

"Didn't we go through this already? Don't push me away. There's nothing wrong with having friends and letting people in. You said it yourself, being alone is just that - _lonely_. And you know what, maybe I need a little bad in my life. It would make a nice change."

"I'm not normal, I don't do normal teenager activities - I hide away and write articles and smoke cigarettes. I don't party and go to pep rally's. I'm not a pretty cheerleader, or the girl that has a good group friends. I don't know how to change. Or even if I want to." I respond with a snap, masking the vulnerability of my words with a defensive tone.

"So hear out my proposal," he bargains, evenly. "Come to the party tonight. The girls want you there and quite frankly, so do I. Learn what it's like to be a normal teenager, and if you despise it and want to go back to being a recluse then I won't bother you. Just give us a shot."

"You're crazy," I shake my head, repulsed at the very idea. "A party hosted by Peter Hayes is bound to end in chaos. It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"You don't even have to stay for long," he tells me, convincingly. "If it seriously sucks and it gets too wild, we can sneak off to the Old Bean - milkshakes on me."

" _If_ I agree, does that mean you will never ask me any questions about my past and forget all about what happened back in there?" I ask, brashly, using this opportunity to get something out of it for myself too.

"You have my word," he agrees, reluctantly. "I won't ask. I'll just wait until you're ready to tell me.. but there's no pressure. I understand what it's like to have secrets that you desperately want to keep. I won't ask."

"Perhaps I'll tell you about it one day." I whisper, the words precious as they leave my mouth; accepting and considering the idea of opening up to somebody. Not right away, but in the future. It isn't much, but it's surely a start.

"I'd like that," he answers with an attentive smile. "Maybe I could tell you a bit more about me too, when the time comes.. I can trust you. I know it."

"I think I'm going to throughly regret agreeing to make an appearance at this party. I have a bad feeling. Can't we just skip?" I admit, flicking away the end of my cigarette, nervously.

"Just think of it as an opportunity for independent research - the study of the teenage mannerisms and functions. It would make for a fantastic investigative piece." Four suggests optimistically, his grin fading as he notices my true apprehension.

I am a pretty instinctive person, and trust my gut over my head. And right now, every nerve and cell in my body is indicating that agreeing to this is a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea. My hands shake slightly and I bite down sharply on my lower lip, ridden with anxiety. I notice Four's own hand twitch towards me, yet he restrains himself.

"Could I hold your hand?" He asks, timidly. As if he is tiptoeing around a deadly minefield, ready to blow and destruct all in its path.

Upon my nod - prolonged by a moments hesitation - he reaches over and takes my small hand in his own, tangling our fingers and soothing the trembling. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand in a caring manner, sending a different kind of tremor through my body: one caused by sheer excitement and electricity.

This touch is soft and innocent, reinventing the idea of physical contact between hands - something I never thought would feel so invigorating.

"D-do friends do this too?" I ask in a low whisper, not daring to meet his gaze. Staring intently at our clasped hands instead.

"No.. no, it's not. I didn't mean to be.. I'm sorry-" he attempts to pull away, but I wrap my fingers around his tightly, keeping his palm pressed against mine.

"I didn't say that I didn't like it," I tell him, my confidence somewhat restored. "Friends may not hold hands, but who says we can't?"

He squeezes my hand appreciatively, matching my enchanted stupor as we stare at our intertwined fingers. Similar smiles flirting with our lips.

Hours later, upon retreating back into the dark and dusty library, we sit side by side at a table. My laptop buzzing with energy as my fingers constantly fly across the keys with a newfound inspiration and motivation. Words pouring out of my mind like sweet honey from a jar. Papers scatter the wooden surface and Four purposely flicks through a round of newspaper clippings, jotting down any memorable facts into an old notepad.

As he focuses intently on the task at hand, I can't help but glance up from my developing article, eyes glazing over his features - admiring his chiselled bone structure, glinting azure orbs and inciting lips. I am sure I will never tire of looking at him, as embarrassing as it is to admit it to myself.

He is a human paradox - a combination of the good and the bad in the world. His kindness and acceptance contrasts with his palpable intimidating persona and his tendency to follow the crowd, to act as a sheep to a Shepard.

As much as I have attempted to ignore and cut the magnetic pull between us, the connection lingers. He is a walking mystery. A mystery that I am determined to solve.

My romanticised thoughts startle me momentarily; I have never exactly looked at another person in an intimate light, but these feelings nagging at my mind are the closest I have gotten. It is stupidly naive of me to even consider these impossible feelings. I inwardly curse myself.

Averting my train of thoughts from the blue-eyed optimistic menace before me, I feel regret wash over me like long and slow waves on a shallow beach. Each foamy wave ice cold, sending a shudder along my spine; how I long to go back in time and refuse the offer to accept my party invitation, but that isn't possible. There is no way to make it right.

The remorse is most certainly going to gnaw at me for the rest of the day, leading up to the dreaded event. I envy the dead in this moment, wishing that I was buried deep in the soil, away from my snap decisions and disregard of my instincts.

Overthinking every aspect of the night makes my heart race, a sensory overload triggered by my bad decision; each time Nita's pretty and wicked face pops up in the forefront of my mind, I feel sick to my stomach.

I closely recall her furious expression in the cafe as Eric shamelessly and publicly flirted with me in front of his beautiful girlfriend. She will have a complex revenge scheme planned out for that, and I can't help but think that it begins tonight. A catastrophic chain of events that will lead to my dramatic crash and burn.

Before I get the chance to be consumed by these anxious thoughts, I watch as Four slides his hand across the desk, palm up and open in an offering. Waiting for me to accept his gesture.

Comfortably, I slide my hand into his, the soft yet calloused feel of his palm soothing my thoughts and putting them to rest.

I turn back to my laptop screen, a smile gracing my lips. And I realise just how out of my depth I really am.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys! I'm so sorry that I'm a day late in updating the story but I have exams coming up so juggling writing with studying is pretty time consuming.**

 **The next chapter is going to be a very long and dramatic one - it's the night of the party and like all high school parties, drama is never far behind. So stick around as it will be the longest chapter of this story so far!**

 **I also wanted to say a HUGE thank you for the response on the last chapter. You guys are so sweet and supportive of my work and I am so happy that you are enjoying reading it just as much as I am writing it :)**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	7. Chapter 7

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 7 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

I wince in pain as my hair is once again scraped back and twisted into another experimental style, brightly coloured nails running through the blonde strands with determination.

The vanity before me is a minefield of beauty products: an impressive yet terrifying array of glitter eyeshadow and startling shades of lipgloss. The entire collection undeniably intimidating for a stranger to the concept of makeup.

I would describe Christina's supplies as war paint. She uses her sexuality like a weapon; she can twist boys around her little finger and make all of the other girls green with envy. It is quite obviously a big part of her self-expression, and would be lost without it.

It is incredibly hard not to be jealous of the mysterious brunette - practically oozing sex appeal, exuding confidence and driving the guys wild with no effort at all.

Sectioning the top of my long tresses, I watch in the reflection as she begins to braid, her fingers working like flashes of lightening as she loops and threads. Quickly pulling a thin strand of navy ribbon lose from her wrist, she expertly weaves it into the forming braid before moving onto the next, using an identical piece of ribbon. Leaving the rest of my hair falling down my back in a tumble of blonde waves.

"Perfect," she smiles as she completes the intricate hairstyle, stepping back to admire her work. "See that wasn't so bad, was it? All that complaining was for nothing!"

"I don't know, I think you made my scalp bleed." I answer, gingerly petting my hairline as a sense of relief washes over me, the torture reaching a close.

"Beauty is pain, girl," she tells me with a cheeky wink, turning away from the vanity to head for her magnificent walk-in closet. "That was nothing. Next is outfit of choice.. we're going to make you look _hot_ from head to toe."

"Seriously?" I whine, throwing my head back in dismay. "What's wrong with what I've got on? Nobody is going to pay attention to what I'm wearing, anyway."

Christina pops her head around the closet door, her smokey eyes surveying my skinny denim pants and Doc Martens, unimpressed. I expected as much - while I am into combat boots and simple tees, she is a lover of stiletto heels and mini skirts. I should have foreseen my subjection to this inevitable makeover.

"We're going to a _party_ ," she reminds me, arching a dark eyebrow. "Not making a grocery store run. So up and at 'em - I have a lot of work to do, and very little time."

Once again she disappears into her closet, but not before beckoning for me to follow her. With a great reluctance, I heave a sigh and cross the plush carpet to slip into the closet. The place she keeps her clothes is bigger than my entire treehouse, the place that I am forced to call home. That fact alone makes my cheeks burn with humiliation.

Row upon row of clothes line the four walls of the closet, as well as three large shelves adorned with as many as fifteen pairs of expensive shoes. Deep purples and khaki greens are the most common of colours, along with classic whites and rosy pinks.

I observe the outfit she has on now with a close eye - a black mini skirt that clings to her caramel thighs, paired with a tight fitting, deep crimson camisole, lined with lace. The dark shades complimenting her skin tone, the black heels extending her long legs.

"I'm thinking something classy yet casual," the dark skinned beauty says aloud, rummaging through the clothing rails. "A cute shirt with tight pants, maybe. Oh, and some killer shoes!"

Within a few minutes, Christina has a trio of items tucked under her arm, her manicured hand wielding a pair of cute platform sneakers. A wide grin graces her mouth as she ushers me back into her elegant bedroom, transporting her outfit choices and laying them out on her rosy bedspread, crumpling the lavish satin sheets.

"While you get changed, I'm going to fetch us something stronger than soda from the basement." She tells me, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively before heading out into the hallway, shutting the door softly behind her.

I am grateful for the privacy; answering her concerned questions about the scars littering my body is not how I plan to go about my night. I am not ready to expose my scars and bruises to anybody, let alone to the overbearing nature of Christina. Loveable, sure, but also incredibly inquisitive.

I quickly strip myself of my pants and shirt, toeing off my doc martens and kicking them aside. I struggle my way into a black bodysuit and slip into the soft pair of high waisted pants, matching in their ebony shades. The shoes are less of a challenge; the perfect size and shape for my feet, comfortable and cute.

In a quick study, I am relieved to see that my injuries are hidden from sight, obscured from the view of any wandering eyes.

I amble over to the full length mirror adorning the pastel wall of Christina's opulent bedroom, anxiously staring at my reflection. I see a short girl with a slight curvature at the waist, a black bodysuit clinging to her upper body, decorated with deep blue flowers curled around a vine of green. Blonde tumbles along her side in a waterfall of soft waves.

The girl I see could _almost_ pass as pretty.. if it wasn't for the pain that lies behind her eyes and the bruises that litter her skin. Tarnishing the potential image of beauty for good.

The door to the bedroom bursts open and Christina returns with a bottle of spirits in one hand and two glasses in the other, though her excitable pace stops short as her eyes fall upon me.

"Oh, Tris," she gasps, her big hickory-brown eyes wide with unexpected pride. "You look _way_ better in that shirt than I _ever_ did. You must keep it!"

"Oh, no.. I couldn't possibly-"

"But you will," she insists, setting down the glasses and the alcohol with an assuring smile. "I mean it, I want you to have it. You look a-mazing. It would be a crime to deprive you of your fashion staple soulmate."

I laugh at her terminology, my cheeks warm with gratitude as I say, "Thank you. You really don't have to.."

"Nonsense," she waves me off, kindly, before turning to pour us both an illegal drink. "Now there is only one last stage until you're all set to go and turn heads to your hearts content - the makeup!"

As I obediently sit down at the vanity once more, one thought whizzes through my head, startling me: _there is only one head that I want to turn tonight._ As quickly as the thought passes I banish it to the back of my mind, suppressing a puzzled frown.

I look down subtly at my hand, small and pale, longing to feel _his_ calloused fingers laced with my own.

"I'm so glad you decided to come over," Christina admits with a toothy smile as she reaches for the first beauty product, enthusiastically. "I was starting to think you had forgotten all about us and the party. I was super psyched when you texted!"

"I was just thinking, I didn't mean to leave you high and dry.. I'm still not sure going to this party was the right decision." I force a chuckle, disguising my nerves with humour.

"We'll look after you," she assures me, swiping a stick beneath my eye, blending out what is left behind with a neon sponge. "Just stick with us girls and it will be fine. It is not as intimidating as it may seem - just a bunch of overexcited teenagers drinking and dancing."

"Is Will going to be there?" I ask with a curious smirk, enthralled by their dynamic - her being oblivious to his palpable love sick attitude.

"I severely doubt that," she scoffs, but I notice her cheeks adhere to a rosy blush. "That boy is way to consumed in an encyclopaedia, biology homework and the square root of 73.5."

"You seriously can't see it, can you?" I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" Christina replies, stroking a brush dipped in powder across my face, setting her previous attack with what I think was a tube of concealer.

"I'm talking about the fact that Will is completely head over heels for you, and you haven't even noticed! Your dream boy is right under your nose - open your eyes!"

"My dream boy? Will?" She echoes, incredulously. "No way. His only love is for books and homework. Besides, we have absolutely _nothing_ in common. I mean, what would we even talk about? Math?"

"Well, if Will isn't your type," I declare, slowly. "Then who is?"

"Hmm," she hums, turning the question over in her head as she applies a little blush against my pale skin. "Somebody with a little attitude, you know, a bit of fire! A bad boy is always fun to have around too, but never for long. I guess I've never really thought about it. Everybody boy is temporary in my universe."

"So you're quite the heartbreaker," I state, raising a brow, not exactly surprised. "It's no question that you have every guy in Newport wrapped around your finger, but why don't you ever.. I don't know, take it steady with just one?"

"Where's the fun in that? Having a new flavour every week keeps it interesting, I can never get bored. Girls cry over heartbreak, but when you're the puppeteer, you can't get hurt. Getting attached is a weak woman's game, and I don't plan on playing a broken hearted girl."

"Dating is a waste of time in itself," I shrug, watching her reach for the glitter shadows with a gulp. "Guys are all the same - they only want one thing, and once they have it they just toss you aside."

"Not all guys are like that. You just have to wait around for the right one," Christina protests. "One day, he'll just be there and you'll know. All boys are toads, but there will always be one that flips your whole world upside down. You just have to know when to hang on and when to let go."

"How would you know? I mean, how could you possibly know when that person comes along. Do you believe in love at first sight?" I question, genuinely interested in hearing her view on the topic; my inexperience puts limitations on my knowledge.

"Well," she begins, cautiously, smoothing her brush across my closed eyelids. "Yes, I do believe in love at first sight. Even if you don't realise it as first, there is that small spark right from the very beginning. One that grows and ignites with time. Like electricity.. whenever you touch or look at each other, it's like an electric shock. A true spark."

"Have you ever felt it? That spark?" I ask in a soft voice, the cogs in my head turning at an uncontrollable speed. Muddling my thoughts.

"Once," she admits in a hesitant whisper, like she has just revealed a secret. "I thought I was in love, but it only hurt me in the end. It could never have been. I haven't felt it since."

"Christina.."

"Hey, enough of the heavy talk," she declares, her voice bubbling with a hyperactive energy once more. "I've almost finished with your eyes. The girls will be here soon and we'll be good to go."

As she finishes up my eyes, brushing mascara onto my lashes with perfect precision, I reflect on our conversation. The electric touches, the spark.. it feels all too familiar in association with a blue-eyed boy clad in a black and red letterman jacket.

It clicks into place, as much as I long for it to be disproved; we barely know each other, and my feelings toward him are more often hostile than they are pleasant. The entire prospect is completely and utterly ridiculous.

"Okay," Christina announces, excitedly, stepping back and revealing my reflection to my stoney eyes. "I'm all done! What do you think?"

Looking at myself now is like seeing myself for the first time; it's like seeing someone else for the first time.

With the mask of makeup, I no longer have my mother's eyes. It is her eyes that I fear, steel grey, void of emotions and windows into the hollows of nothing at all. I am terrified to look at myself and see her - a shell of a woman, swayed by the devils drink, her eyes empty and unfeeling.

As I stare at my reflection, I do not see my mother, I see a girl with a fire in her stormy orbs, a girl who could conquer the world. I am not pretty, nowhere near to it, but I am confident. I am noticeable.

I see a girl who has ripped away from the fists of her past - if just for one night - and stepped into the spotlight with a newfound independence.

A force to be reckoned with.

"See, Tris," Christina smiles, placing both of her hands on my half-exposed shoulders. "You're beautiful. You're... _striking_."

Under the circumstances and the rash thoughts filling my head, it is the best compliment she could have given to me. I smile at her in the mirror, completely grateful for this poised and self-assured girl who has welcomed me into her world with a large smile and a magic wand to reassert my own confidence.

The feminine ringtone of Christina's cellphone cuts through the silence, and she rushes to answer, holding the sparkly cell to her ear, expectantly. The conversation is brief and hard to understand, but as I watch her reach for her purse, I follow her lead and stand.

Upon hanging up she turns to look at me, "That was Shauna. She's outside; her older brother is taking us over to Peter's place. Let's go!"

I collect my own cellphone and accompany the excited brunette out into the hallway to descend the grand staircase, only to find my own cell buzz in my hand before I can slip it into my back pocket.

 _Four: Heading over now, I'll see you there_

 _Four: I know you're nervous, but it will be okay. I will be there every step of the way. I have faith in you_

I can't help but smile on instinct as I type out my reply, stepping out into the warm night, the beautiful sunset slowly slipping away into dusk.

I pocket my cell as Christina closes the door behind us, heading over to Marlene and Shauna who have their heads hanging out of the window of a black G-wagon, waving and giggling with excitement.

A bad feeling sits dangerously at the pit of my stomach but I ignore it and copy Christina's enthusiastic wave, putting on an ecstatic front.

 _Me: See you soon, wonder boy._

 **-o-o-o-**

Inside of Peter's expensive stately home is like a dance club muddled within the Northern Lights; beneath the dry ice smoke swirls an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks and golds. The generic pop music plays over the crowd of drunken dancing teenagers as if it were fused with the sweaty bodies.

Marlene hangs onto my arm as we navigate our way through the large house, pushing through people and stepping over spilled drinks and abandoned shoes.

Somehow my expectations on the number of people in attendance has been exceeded - there must be well over a hundred people. I even spotted a few college kids lingering on the staircase.

We eventually manage to locate the kitchen which is overflowing with people clutching red solo cups filled with spirits they are much too young to drink, laughing and dancing, singing along to an unfamiliar song that is flooding out from the sound system. The claustrophobia threatens to take its toll and I take a few calculated breaths to steady myself.

We lost Christina and Shauna not a metre past the front door, getting lost within the crowd, pulled off in different directions. Marlene and I managed to stay connected as we picked through the drunken teenagers, but her grip loosens on me as she spots somebody across the kitchen.

"There's Uriah," she calls to me over the music, gesturing to the boy with the coffee complexion who laughs with a couple buddies, a drink in his hand. "I'm going to put this mini skirt to good use. Will you be ok on your own? Why don't you get a drink, let loose, eh?"

Before I can protest the negative, she has already slipped away from my grasp and is headed in Uriah's direction, her hips administering a prominent swing, accentuating how short her skirt really is. I watch after, helplessly.

"Make good choices." I mutter, even though she can't hear me, turning away and searching for the pile of drinks. Desperate for something strong to soothe my enflamed anxiety.

I wrap my hands around a bottle of cheap vodka, pouring it into a solo cup with trembling fingers, topping it up with a generous lashing of cola to weaken the strong spirit. I take my first sip, shrinking into the counter.

Looking around briefly, I notice that there are lots of people that I don't know. Most of them definitely seem a lot older than me. College guys, mainly. I have no idea what they are doing at a high school party, though I was warned that these rangers can get out of hand, including party crashers. There is a funny odour in the air, and I scrunch up my nose in distaste.

I look down at the floor and try not to catch anyone's eye. It has barely been ten minutes and I already feel compelled to run right out and retreat into the safety of my treehouse. Gosh, this is much worse than I had imagined. _Why_ did I come?

"Hiya, gorgeous," a voice says from my right, and I turn to see a boy with floppy dark hair just as he nudges his hip against my own. "Want to have a bit of fun?"

I am confused until he dangles a bag in front of my face in offering, the contents looking exactly like a bag of dried leaves but smelling like nothing of the sort. I frown, inching away from the older boy.

"Depends what kind of fun you're offering," I respond with narrowed eyes. "What's in the bag?"

The boy grins. His blue eyes the size of saucers, tinted with red and slightly swollen. "It's heaven in a bag, doll."

I recoil, his proposal dawning on me - he is offering me drugs. My fight or flight instincts kick in and I straighten up, ready to act.

"I'll pass." I tell him, fighting to keep my voice steady and unafraid, though I am sure my facial expression is giving away just how horrified I am at the idea. My heart begins to race as steps closer, his frame towering over mine.

"Oh go on," he goads, smiling a hypnotising grin. "You look like the kind of girl who just needs to relax. I promise, I can make this the best night of your life, doll..."

I shrink back, and I watch as his gaze drops to my waist, reaching out a hand. His fingers close around my hip, tightly, and I attempt to flinch away but his grip is much too tight. His face is so close that I can smell the foul smell now that I can pinpoint as marijuana, turning my stomach over in disgust.

"Hiya, Tris," a cheerful voice addresses from behind me, but I am so paralysed with fear that I cannot recognise whom it belongs to. "Fancy some fresh air?"

A hand pushes away the fingers that clutched at my waist, replacing it with a soft touch, guiding me out of the kitchen and away from the college boy. Who I can imagine is not very happy with the interruption.

It's not until we are out of the kitchen and out into the darkened backyard that I can breathe again. I still have no idea who rescued me until he turns around and grins, white teeth flashing and blue eyes burning into my own.

"Four!" I exclaim, relieved at his presence. Hyper aware of his hand that is still set in place on my waist, gentle and caring. I barely noticed he was touching me, but it doesn't scare me; he won't hurt me. Not Four.

"You looked a little desperate," he says, dropping his hand to slip it into the pocket of his dark denim jacket. "I just happened to walk in and spot you and that asshole. I hope I did the right thing by cutting in like that-"

"You did." I assure him, my head spinning. My body is still buzzing from the adrenaline and is beginning to feel a little wobbly.

"I have every reason to go back in there and teach him a lesson or two about how to treat girls." He adds, his voice dropping to a low growl, muscles tightening in anger. Subtle protectiveness radiating from his powerful stature.

"Don't be stupid," I chastise, drifting away from the group of people lingering nearby on the deck, hoping he will follow. "Who knows what he's taken. It's not even worth it."

Four pursues me as we wander away from the house, the noise level dropping considerably as we stroll further and further into the dark gardens.

My heart rate has slowed and I revel in the strong presence beside me, subconsciously inching closer so that our arms press together as we walk. Calming my hurricane of panicked thoughts even more so.

For a girl who detests physical contact, I seem to be acting well out of character, longing to hold his hand again. Perhaps even feel what it would be like to hug him. I cannot remember the last time I hugged anybody. _Years_ , I think.

"I really do hate parties. I feel awful that I roped you into coming." He says, suddenly.

"What?"

" _Parties_ ," he repeats, solemnly. "I hate them. Everyone gets dressed up in completely stupid clothes. Everyone tries to drink too much to show that they're really cool. Then you are expected to make out with someone you don't even like. Because if not, you haven't have a 'good time'. It sucks. I shouldn't have roped you into coming along."

"No you shouldn't have," I agree, sticking to my usual full-disclosure policy. "But after only fifteen minutes, I can confirm that I know exactly what you mean. What's so cool about throwing up all night?"

"And having to use the bathroom when there's no toilet paper and people have thrown up in there."

"Or somebody spilling a drink over your new shoes." I add and he tilts his face to look at me. We grin at each other in the dark.

Stumbling across a wooden bench we decide to sit down, the music filtering through the air towards us, a quiet symphony that nips at my ears.

It is peaceful out here, a significant contrast to the terrible atmosphere inside of the house. I could almost fall asleep, my nerves draining me of energy, but I know I will stay wide awake because of just that.

The night is warm, but the breeze bears a strong bite, molehills growing along my arms. I shiver slightly, wrapping my arms around myself to conserve heat. Before I can register what is happening, Four is removing his denim jacket, lined with white faux sheepskin and offering it to me.

Shyly, I slip my arms into the warm jacket and wrap it around myself, inhaling the addictive scent of aftershave, wind and something distinctively metal.

"Thank you." I whisper, softly, unable to keep my eyes from roaming over his strong arms, constricted by the tight khaki material of his long sleeved shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

"You look really good tonight," he tells me, suddenly, as if it took him a long time to build up the courage to utter the words. "I-er, just thought I should tell you. I hope that's not weird.."

"Don't be silly," I murmur, embarrassed, nudging his shoulder with my own to break the ice. "I'm just glad Christina didn't force me into a skirt, or even worse, a dress."

"You don't have to agree with me, but I just think you look good. You would look good in a skirt or a dress or even just sweatpants." He shrugs, his voice forcefully casual, but I let it fly over my head. Too shy to address his comment properly.

"It's the jacket," I joke, pulling it against my body, eagerly. "I want one of my own. Perhaps I'll just have to steal it for myself."

"Hmm," he chuckles, his obvious tension relieving with the laugh. "You definitely look better in it than I do. We could always organise a trade.."

"What kind of trade?" I play along, startling myself with the flirtatious edge to my amused voice. If he picks up on it he doesn't make it known.

"I'll let you steal my wonderful jacket _if_ ," he grins, tapping his chin teasingly. "If you give me one dance. Just one little dance, and my jacket is all yours."

"A dance?" I ask, taken aback by his request. "You don't strike me as a dancing type of guy. Do you even know how? Because I don't have a clue.."

"Shall we?" He asks, getting to his feet and extending his hand for me to take. A volt of energy shoots through me at the anticipation of holding his hand for the third time today.

"I can't dance," I tell him, bashfully, staring up at him with a timid gaze. "Seriously - I might break your toes or something embarrassing like that. I have two left feet, me dancing is a recipe for disaster.."

"I'm a good teacher." He insists, keeping his hand extended out for me to take. In a moment of courage, I reach up and weave our fingers together, standing beside him. Four's jacket brushes against my thighs, swallowing me whole in the warm and divine-smelling fabric.

The song filtering through the air is a generic chart topper, something catchy by Post Malone. Not a song suitable for a slow dance. Yet this does not stop his purposeful movements, placing his large hands on my waist as mine go around his shoulders, as far as my arms can stretch.

"For this to work we are going to have to get a little closer." He says, his voice dropping an octane, causing a shiver to disturb my spine.

Waiting for my nod of consent, Four pulls me closer by the small of my back, pressing our bodies flush against one another. My cheeks are flaming and his breathing is slightly laboured. I haven't been so close to somebody in a long time, and it has never felt better.

We slowly sway to the music, the trees rustling above our heads, obscuring the view of the starry sky. The perfect setting, the worst choice of music.

I block out the noise created by the people at the house, pressing my cheek against his chest, over his heart, feeling it race beneath my touch.

"This is a little strange," I chuckle, softly, unable to suppress the comment. "What gave you the idea to bargain with a slow dance?"

"I want you to trust me, I want you to feel comfortable with me. Being close like this means that you are trusting me, I wanted to test your limits. I want you to feel safe with me." He murmurs in my ear, his full lips tickling my skin. Unlike the nasty guy from inside, his breath smells minty and compelling. My knees wobble slightly.

"I haven't trusted anybody in a very long time," I whisper, letting my eyes flutter closed as the beat of his heart soothes every nerve in my body. "I don't know what it is about you, wonder boy, but you make me feel... _safe_."

It is equally as scary as it is enthralling to tell him my deepest thoughts, to admit and express my vulnerabilities. I feel as though a weight has been lifted, but there is a sour taste in my mouth - the fear of him leaving me in the dust, ripping away my safety net and abandoning me.

I haven't known him for very long at all, but I don't think I could handle him leaving. Not now. Not now that I've accepted our magnetic pull.

I remember what Christina told me about that spark; it is there from the very beginning, and develops over time. Perhaps this is one of those occasions.

My ideals have been flipped upside down now that he has barrelled straight into my fucked-up life, and the wall I worked so hard to construct is slowly crumbling under the power of his genuine kindness, care and transparency.

I want to tell him everything about me, the dark and dreary, as well as the tiny aspects of hope and light. My heart of steel has been touched with a raging flame that is Four Eaton, and I'm not sure that I want to keep pushing him away, declining him access to the deadly labyrinth of my mind.

"Tris.." he purrs into my ear, and I slowly pull away to meet his electric blue orbs, a charge of electricity crackling between the very little space between our bodies.

"You're going to be trouble for me too, aren't you?" I murmur, noting the distance between our faces, only decreasing as he leans in so our lips are barely an inch apart.

"I think you know enough about trouble," he answers, his minty breath mingling with my own. "And I understand that perhaps you're not good for me.. but understand this - I don't think I am going to be able to stay away from you, Tris Prior."

"Are we crazy?" I ask, drawing back slightly, nerves getting the better of me. "We are from two different worlds, we've only known each other a week, for crying out loud. Why do I feel so compelled to tell you everything about me? How have you fried my head so much?"

"Well over a week of attempting to get you out of my mind," he agrees, leaning in once more, making me dizzy. "I noticed you, remember? But you're nothing like I expected. You're always in my head, Prior.. so my question is how have _you_ fried _my_ head?"

"Fuck, what have you done to me." I whimper, but instead of supplying me with an answer, his lips brush against mine with the pressure of a feather.

Before I have the chance up on my tiptoes to connect our lips properly, to experience my very first kiss, the clearing of a throat breaks through the still air, causing us to quickly pull apart.

Nita Pablos stands barely six feet away, hand on hip as she's watches us with a smug smirk. Her red lips indicating her attitude for this evening - a mood for chaos.

"Here you both are," she coos, her voice sickeningly sweet. "It's time for us to play a little game.. and what perfect timing. I'm sure this little fling would make a fine topic to reveal."

"What _game_?" Four sneers, his eyes cold with hostility. Lip curled in complete disgust.

"Secrets and sins," Nita replies with a wicked grin, igniting the dread in the pit of my stomach. " _My_ take on truth or dare - a game where we can own our truths by telling it how it is. And you two will make the perfect subjects."

I share a horrified look with Four who is glaring angrily at the pretty girl, his clenched fists shaking with fury. Appalled by her manipulative tricks. The telltale signs of his malevolence is only going to goad Nita, and I know that this cannot end well.

I don't have to know the game well; it is clear that there will be no winners in this game. Only survivors.

I wrap Four's jacket around me to draw on its comfort, feeling sick to the stomach. My head reeling at the impending doom. I can't help but wonder how many other secrets are going to be revealed tonight.

How far will they go to get us to spill our secrets?

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Ok so I told yall there would be drama! I know this story is not going to be much of a slow burn as I was intending; my need to write FourTris overpowers all resolve.**

 **Next chapter we will dive right into a riveting game of secrets and sins (inspiration drawn from Riverdale) and secrets will be exposed to all. What will this stir among our characters?**

 **This chapter has gone up a few days early as I will be incredibly busy for the rest of this week, I don't think I'll have another one up by Thursday - Sunday at the latest. Enjoy!**

 **\- Guiltymind**


	8. Chapter 8

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 8 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

I stand in the corner of the converted basement, arms crossed over my chest, glaring daggers at the three trouble makers. Of whom stand centre stage - addressing a select crowd of the volunteers and the coerced - with wicked smirks that promise nothing less than chaos and mass destruction.

"Welcome to secrets and sins," Nita grins evilly, her painted lips curving upward. "My own variation on truth or dare. In which we declare our truths, exposing the liars and the cheats. A spring cleaning of the offenders, the exploiters, the crooks."

I can't help but release an amused, low chuckle from where I situate myself in the shadows. Unable to suppress my genuine entertainment any longer; a game to cleanse the town of liars and deceitful people, ran by a trio of ultimately inhumane beings. Oh, the sweet irony.

"Something funny over there, Eaton?" Eric growls, puffing out his chest in a feeble attempt of exuding his masculinity as an act of intimidation. The steely tone of his voice laced with threat and assured torment.

"Actually yes," I snap, his aggression striking my own temper. "This entire game is just one big joke. You seriously dragged us down into this rotten basement to play a silly game of truth or dare? If you're so desperate to expose a few secrets, do it on your own time. Don't involve me or my friends into whatever twisted ploy you're trying to pull off."

"It's just a game," Nita shrugs, quickly answering for her meat-headed boyfriend, before he even gets the chance to open his mouth. "What's wrong, Four? Got something to hide?"

"This is ridiculous," Marlene huffs out in frustration, rising from her place in a dusty armchair. "If you think I'm going to spend my night down here, you have _definitely_ had too much to drink-"

"Not so fast, sweetheart," Eric tuts, bracing a hand against the staircase, preventing her path to freedom. "In case it hasn't been made pretty clear, this game is no longer voluntary. Now sit your ass down."

"Back off, Eric. Get away from her." Uriah utters in a dark drawl, his fists clenching at his sides. His anger startles me momentarily; it is not often that he abandons his peaceful and easy-going attitude.

Marlene submissively walks back to her seat with slow paces, a scowl etching its way onto her face. I can tell that it was Eric's threatening demeanour that scared her into obedience - he is smaller than I am, but built like a boulder. It is no surprise that intimidation may be his second nature.

"Let's begin, shall we? We should start with.." Nita scans her eyes over the generally timid crowd. "..our student body president. The good girl, the perfect girl next door."

"I haven't got anything to hide. You have _nothing_ on me. So good luck trying to pull a story out of thin air." Shauna responds, airily, but her fingers twitch anxiously in her lap, contradicting her confident bravado.

"Everybody has their secrets," Peter chimes in, seemingly in line with Nita's intentions. " _Including_ do-good achievers like you. In fact, it's amazing what a little research can do.. when you look in the right places."

"Whatever you're trying to imply, you better drop it and back the hell up," Zeke responds with an authoritative grow. "Leave Shauna out of what your sick minds have conjured up."

"It is safe to say that when we found out that our student body president unrightfully claimed the position, we were incredibly distraught." Nita adds spitefully, ignoring Zeke's warning entirely.

"So tell us," Eric says, menacingly. "Is it true that you - our trusted president - _cheated_ your way to election?"

"W-what are you talking about? Of course not. I earned that role.. I spent months and months campaigning." Shauna protests, shakily, stumbling over her words. Dread unfurls inside of my chest, preparing myself for much to come.

"And you couldn't let all of that hard work to to waste.. so you seduced one of the guys running the ballot station. You got him to rig the votes, to ensure your path to presidency." The dark haired witch spits, a dark shadow overcoming her features.

"Don't be stupid," Christina argue, standing up for her friend with fierce loyalty. "Shauna wouldn't do something like that. Her presidency was due to a strong campaign and genuine ideas and plans. Don't you dare discredit her achievements!"

"Tell them," Marlene urges, shaking Shauna's shoulder encouragingly. "Tell them that it's not true."

"How did you find out?" Shauna asks in a dismantled whisper, regret washing over every aspect of her exterior. "And you better not go running to the principal about this- I-I need that presidency for my college applications! This has to stay a secret."

"It's out of our hands now," Nita shrugs, faux sympathy evident in her sickly sweet tone. "Once the truth is out, it's out of our control. Don't you see? This is the point of our game - to reveal secrets and get them out in the open. To expel the fakes."

"H-how could you not tell us about this? We worked our asses of for your campaign, rearing behind you the entire time, but you _cheated_ to victory?" Marlene exclaims, astounded by her friend's lack of transparency.

"You know what, maybe this game could give us all a much needed wake-up call. If you hid such a big secret, how can I trust that you haven't got any others?" Christina chimes in, scowling.

"This game _isn't_ going to do any good," Tris tells her, quietly. "They're trying to mess with our heads - a sick idea of _fun_. You know who your real friends are."

"Shut it, short stack," Peter snaps, casting a glower her way. My fists clench at my sides. "If Christina thinks that this game could benefit her, maybe we should bring her truths to light also. After all, you clearly seem to prioritise the truth."

"Fine!" The fiery caramel-skinned girl declares with a slight slur of her words. "I don't care. There's nothing that you can pin on me that everybody doesn't already know. In case you hadn't already realised, I'm an open book."

"So everybody knows the truth of what happened last summer?" Eric cuts in, smoothly, grinning as Christina's face pales considerably, the reaction he was hoping for.

"Don't you dare," she suddenly hisses, face dark with fury. "That truth is not yours to tell. That is _my_ life, my whole life. If you honestly believe exposing that mistake to the rest of the world is a good idea, you may want to think long and hard about what you say next."

"I've thought about it.. oh, yeah, I thought about it, alright. I have thought about how hot it would have been to witness your rendezvous with that _girl_. When I'm in bed at night, especially.." Peter leers, scanning his inappropriate gaze over Christina's body, licking his lips with appreciation.

"You're a pig," Marlene growls, a powerhouse of anger. "And what Chris does with her body and her time is also her own business. This is the twenty-first century, assholes - same sex relations are accepted. Stop making a big deal out of something completely natural."

"It wasn't a relationship. Ok? It was a random and spur-of-the-moment summer fling that was over within four weeks."

"I mean, it's no surprise," Nita scoffs, waving away Christina's justification, flippantly. "You give yourself to anybody who asks.. it was only a matter of time before you broadened your appeal."

"Enough! You guys are batshit crazy, y'know that?" Uriah declares, a hollow chuckle flooding from his lips, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"You really are a stone cold bitch." Tris speaks up, her heated ocean orbs fixated on the hellish brunette, dressed head-to-toe in a fitting devil red.

"Oh, _wow_ , suicide squad is finally speaking her mind," Nita snarks back in a hostile manner, cheeks flushing at the blatant insult. "Well, now that you have found the use of your voice, unleash yourself! I'm sure a girl like you has a lot of dark secrets to share. A lot of secrets that she hides."

"A girl like me?"

"A freak. The kind of girl that spends her time watching serial killer documentaries, drinking blood out of a gauntlet and taking naps in a coffin. An outcast. The girl that pretends she is so much better than us with her blonde hair and big doe eyes, but in reality, is just as bad as the worst serial killer scum." Nita spits, her voice laced with an odd combination of jealousy and resentment.

"I don't know about that," Eric suggestively protests, gazing at the blonde - wrapped up in _my_ jacket - with an inappropriate glint in his eye. "I would give her a chance to prove her worth.. most likely in physical methods of persuasion."

"Shut the fuck up, Eric," I tell him, jumping in with a ferocious rumble of my chest. "Say another degrading word to her and we are going to have a real issue. And trust me - if you don't want to leave this basement with a severe limp - I suggest you just shut the hell up."

"You know what, _fine_ ," Eric shoots back, quickly. "I'll leave the girl alone.. that way we can continue with the game. And it looks like it might be your turn."

"Maybe we could begin with what I stumbled upon in the backyard - our resident golden boy and the town freak, wrapped up in what could be considered a less than innocent embrace. And if my eyes did not deceive me, I could even declare that they were about to kiss. Care to explain yourselves?"

"Th-that wasn't what it looked like," Tris claims, not meeting my eye. Hurt courses through me like an electric shock. "You have no idea what you're talking about Nita, so drop it."

I can't help but stare, feeling internally helpless, into thin air. Pained by Tris' blatant disregard for what happened in the backyard, the moment we shared. Why did she deny it?

Was it to shield our privacy in this rotten game, or could she be ashamed? Perhaps she is regretting our almost-kiss, pulling away emotionally again - the worst case scenario.

"I have a twisted secret to reveal," Peter admits, purposefully, his knowing stare pinpointed in my direction. "Starring our very own, Four Eaton. And his fraud of a father."

Every part of my body snaps into a ball of fire, boiling my blood and heating my temper. Anxiety riddles my mind, a dozen questions buzzing around incessantly. I pray to anybody that could be listening, for him to spare the humiliation, the exposure of my father's transgressions.

"We all know Four, right? Track star, perfect grades, mister popular," the grinning boy continues, relishing in this unfair revelation. "But what you don't know is that Four's father is in jail.. charged with attempted murder. He beat a young man viciously and stabbed him repeatedly, before leaving him in the street for dead. A true monster. The question of brutality being a hereditary trait is something that Four should answer for himself. So, care to comment-"

Unable to listen to another word, I launch myself out of the shadows and in Peter's direction, my fist colliding viciously with his cheekbone. A satisfying crack filling my ears.

All I see is red, faint screams and cries from the others are disregarded in my furious star of mind, my fists tingling with desire to inflict more pain.

"No, stop it," A distinct harmonious voice tells me, sternly. A small hand pulls insistently at the hem of my shirt. "Look at me. Four, look at me!"

The cloud of scarlet clears enough for me to look at the person preventing my inclination to start a bloodbath, to destroy the boy who just revealed my deepest and darkest secret.

Tris clings to my shirt, looking up at me with pleading eyes, big and wide, like clear stormy skies above a meadow.

"Just walk away," she whispers, pushing me backward slightly. "Walk away. Don't get yourself in the gutter with them. Come on."

I allow myself to be led away by the concerned blonde, her fingers now woven tightly through my own, rather than twisted into my shirt. It is like I am walking on air, not alert to any of my surroundings.

The rumbling music is like a faint whisper in the background, taking a backseat to the ringing in my ears. My knuckles throb, but the pain feels separated from my body, like I am not really experiencing it for myself.

It is not until we are out the front door, down the street and around the corner, that it kicks in - everybody knows that my father is a psychopath, a monster. It will be around town like a wildfire.

There will be stares and disgusted whispers, glares and isolation. They cannot spread their hatred to my dad, so the next best thing is to his family - my mom and I.

"Fuck!" I shout, lashing out at the closest inanimate object with my foot: a neighbouring trashcan that goes flying across the sidewalk.

"Hey, hey! Calm down. Don't lose your shit, Four. Not here. We can handle this."

"Calm down?" I yell, pulling my hand out of hers, angrily. "You are seriously trying to tell me to calm down right now? Were you listening in there? They _all_ know! And soon enough, so will everybody else in this stupid town."

I watch as Tris flinches at my tone, her mouth set in a straight line. "Don't yell at me like that. I understand that you are upset, but you're lashing out at the wrong person. Listen to me when I tell you that after tonight, everything is going to change. But in that change, you are going to find out exactly who is really there for you."

"You don't understand," I shrug, my voice lowered as requested, but filled with hostility. "You don't get how it feels to live in constant fear. I was terrified of people finding out. You could never comprehend how _hard_ it is to hide such a terrible secret."

"I understand completely. You know what I've told you about my life, which is technically nothing at all. I know that you're hurting, but don't pretend that you are the only person suffering," she retaliates, her voice emotionless and detached. "We all have our baggage. What happened to you wasn't right, but don't let that harden the good inside. And stop being such a brat - we all have our bad memories and secrets. You are allowed to be mad, but don't let it consume you."

I pause in my flood of pain, registering her harsh words. I knew not to expect sweet and sympathising words, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I know that Tris will tell me the truth, which is exactly what she has done.

My breathing evens out and I let out a heavy sigh, my muscles relaxing and losing their traumatic tension. Somehow, my mind begins to clear and the mental block caused by my sheer ferocity has lifted. Regret washes over me, and my cheeks flush with guilt as I mull over the words I uttered to her innocent ears.

Upon noticing my relaxation, my understanding of her honest declarations, she does the unexpected - a small pair of arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into a confident and warm embrace. Her head resting comfortably just below my pecs.

Melting into her touch - a little startled by her courageous move to comfort me, acting against her fears of contact - I curl an arm around her small shoulders, and cup the back of her head with my hand. Holding her tight, the scent of forest pine and sugar cookies expelling all darkness from my mind.

"Can we go someplace?" I ask in a crooked whisper, suddenly desperate to get as far away from the party as physically possible. "Anywhere but here.. I want to talk about it, somewhere quiet."

"I have just the place," Tris agrees, pulling away from our hug to press her palm against mine. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

We walk along the sidewalk at a fast pace, leaving the party and the twisted games behind. It is late now; judging by the night sky, almost midnight. I should be heading home to appease my mother's curfew, but that house is the last place I want to be. Surrounded by the memories that haunt our family.

We duck through a small steel gate, leading right to the top of a cliff path, a set of rocky steps leading down into the darkness. I hesitate slightly, unsure of where the path could lead us, and the lack of safety it provides.

I don't know exactly why I begin to climb down. It's dark and the steps are uneven, and I am supposed to be sticking to my curfew and maintaining my reputation as a golden boy.

Perhaps it has something to do with the girl at my side - a bad influence, admittedly - with whom I have no obligations to act a certain way. I can be myself without judgement, argument or repercussions. But somehow, I find myself on the beach, the salty ocean air tickling the tip of my nose. Our feet sinking into the soft sand, her hair lifting in the breeze.

"I found that cliff path exploring last summer," Tris tells me, her voice drifting with the light wind. "Not many people know about it."

"We're alone down here, aren't we? Completely alone?"

"Completely and utterly so," she confirms, sitting down on a cluster of large rocks, her slim legs outstretched. Tris sends me an encouraging glance. "If you're going to shout and rant, this is the time. Because the minute we step off this beach, you have to be strong again."

"I just-" I begin with a dismayed sigh. "I just don't know why I bother. I try my best to please everybody, to do the right thing. To not upset my mom, terrified that she'll just break into pieces. I do everything for everyone. Everything! To be the perfect student, the perfect athlete.. the perfect son."

"Go on," she urges into the darkness. "Let it all out. What you say down here, stays just that. It stays with us."

"I am so angry at _him_ , at my mom, at the world! I loved my Dad, he was great to us. He was my biggest supporter. But he left us in the dust to deal with his mistake. And my mom is pretending like none of it ever happened, trying to isolate herself from the truth. I wish she would just see what's really going on - what's right in front of her," I exclaim, my voice dropping into a hollowed murmur. "Everybody has these plans and expectations for me - most likely to succeed, track star, acceptance into an Ivy League school. But nobody, nobody, ever bothers to ask what _I_ want."

I flop down onto the rocks beside Tris, heaving aggravated breaths. Infuriated by my own words, my plastic life shining through the cracks - it is like I am standing in a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and nobody even looks up.

Watching my life plunge ahead, powerless to change my destiny. Simply observing, not really living.

"He was pulled away in the middle of the night," I continue, flatly, reliving the fatal twilight in my mind. "It all happened so fast.. they caught him on surveillance footage, beating that innocent person to the brink of death. They had it all on tape, he had no choice but to just confess - they sentenced him to life, a chance of parol after serving twenty years. I still haven't gone to visit, I don't know if I ever will. He broke up our family and shattered our lives into a million pieces."

"How do you feel now?" Tris asks, simply, her stormy eyes piercing through the shadows.

"I.. I feel.." I stammer, attempting to comprehend my own emotions. "..relieved. Like it's not all on my shoulders anymore. It feels as if I can finally breathe again."

Sharing my experiences and talking about all of the things that I have religiously bottled up has actually lifted an entire weight from my shoulders - the mass of my dark secrets alleviating with the words that flow from my mouth.

The anger still lingers deep within, my breaths still furiously exercising my lungs, but there is also a clarity that tranquillises my nerves.

"I don't think you're angry at all," she adds, softly, as if reading my mind. I stare at her, puzzled. "You aren't mad - you're hurt. And you need to take the time to dig through all that rage to get to the pain beneath it. Then, you can begin to heal."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Oh, it isn't going to be easy," she shakes her head, frowning. "You misunderstood. Healing is going to be hard, harder than anything. But you know what? I'm betting you can handle it. You aren't a quitter.. and I know you will be willing to do whatever it takes to pull through these dark times."

"I never can understand you," I chuckle, hollowly, shaking my head. "You seem to know so much about pain, but also how to heal - though I know you're not there yourself. And you can also be so cynical, yet so kind."

"Kind?" She snorts, raising an eyebrow. "I speak my mind; if something needs to be said, I have no problem in saying it. I know that I can come across a little.. cold, but it's just how I'm wired. I guess I'm only ever _kind_ to you.."

"That only makes you all the more perplexing." I respond, quietly, my hand once again itching to hold hers, but I restrain myself, not wanting to push any boundaries.

She shivers, wrapping my denim jacket around her tightly, tucking her chin into the material as a light-hearted smirk curls her rosy lips. "Maybe I like keeping you on your toes."

"You keep _everybody_ on their toes," I correct with a smile of my own. "You push everybody away with your mysterious demeanour, and your black heart. Nobody can tie you down, huh?"

"Black heart.." Tris repeats, her teasing smirk slipping. "If you really thought that was true, you would stay away, just like the others. So the real question is, what makes you so different?"

"You trust me," I answer, firmly, watching her eyes widen. "That's what makes me so different. You have your own pain, a trauma that you hide away. I understand that it's hard to trust people, and you're still hesitant.. but you do. And I wouldn't break that trust, I really need you to know that."

There is a tense beat of silence between us, before she eventually whispers, "Ever since my dad died, hugs and physical contact has always been associated with pity - sympathetic embraces, telling me how great of a man he was. But now.. now touch is more dangerous, violent. Promising unbelievable pain. I am never touched unless it's.."

"Hey," I soothe, instinctively reaching an arm around her. She momentarily flinches, but then settles against my side. "You don't have to tell me anymore than that just yet. Whenever you're ready."

"I trust you. I do. It's crazy, really. We barely know each other. But for the first time in a long time, I don't feel so scared when you're this close.."

"We can get to know each other," I shrug, contently. "We have all summer. And I have a strong inkling that I am going to have a very hard time staying away from you."

"Like I said, maybe I like to keep you on your toes." Tris grins, suddenly shifting from under my arm and hopping to her feet.

"Where are you going?" I ask, frowning in confusion as she pulls off her sneakers, discarding them in the sand.

"We are going to make a wish, a promise for the summer," she orders, peeling my jacket away from her milky shoulders and laying it out on the rocks. "A pact of friendship, understand?"

"Colour me intrigued." I smirk, toeing off my own shoes, bare feet cool against the damp sand. I attempt to shake off my disappointment as she labels us as friends. I know it is too soon to see us as anything more, but a large part of me is magnetised to her entity.

"Let's see how fast you can run, wonder boy."

Before I can respond, she turns swiftly on her heels and dashes to the surf, lit only by the moonlight. Her blonde locks flying out behind her like an opulent mane. The rare and beautiful sound of her laughter drifting through the breeze, lifting my spirits.

I break out into a flat-out sprint, the memories of our previous pact in the ocean and the feeling of her skin on mine, push me forward. Faster and faster until I have overtaken the tiny blonde, laughing victoriously as she groans in frustration.

We reach the waters edge, kicking through the choppy waves, venturing further into the cold depths. Ignoring the fact that we are both fully-clothed and unprotected from the chill. I pull her to a stop as the water reaches my waist, coming just above her shoulders. She claps our hands beneath the water, grinning wildly.

"We're going to make another wish," Tris tells me, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "This time, we are going to wish for your healing, a summer of unexpected adventures and happiness."

"We can take the future as it comes. I think we should make a wish for right now..." I object, gently, my eyes flicking down to her enticing lips.

"What would you wish for?" She whispers, her timid eyes wide with a newfound innocence. Her hand tightens in my own, fingers caressing fingers.

"To go back in time," I answer, confidently, placing my free hand on the side of her face, watching as she instantly leans into my touch. "To make sure that Nita never interrupted our dance.. our.."

"You know what? I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than right here in the present; this is pretty damn close to perfect."

"Would it be considered at all terrible and presumptuous if I were to kiss you?" I ask, courageously, my thumb caressing over the plump surface of her lower lip. Wondering if we are moving too fast, and deciding that I don't care.

"Awfully terrible," she responds, drawing her face closer to my own. "But maybe.. just maybe, I'll forgive you for it."

With that flirtatious reply, I lower my head and my lips finally land on hers. Sparks fly in every direction, and the world begins to disappear around us, along with all of our worries and problems. She makes it feel as though none of it matters.

It is a small but warm kiss. I honestly could never have predicted that such an innocent kiss could be so electrifying and intimate. The feeling of her hand on my waist and her soft lips moving in sync with my own enhances all sensations.

I tighten my arm around her, lifting her slightly out of the water as she wraps her own around my neck, pressing closer so that our bodies are flushed together. The kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. Taking my breath away.

In this one perfect moment, I don't feel so alone.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Whoo! New chapter! I was away for the weekend at a wedding and wrote this on the journey, eager to get up another chapter for you guys. And I was also very inclined to write some FourTris fluff ~ hope you enjoyed!**

 **Also, 100+ review in 7 chapters?! I read each and every one and I would like to thank everyone who reviews, follows and favourites. It makes me so happy to know that you guys like my work!**

 **I will (try) and have a chapter updated by Thursday, so stay tuned!**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	9. Chapter 9

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 9 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

We sit atop of the tall dunes of sand, watching the distinct line where the heavens tenderly kiss the earth. My focused eyes witnessing the resounding, glowing collision of colour.

The setting sun spills its brilliance across the sky: hot oranges and reds, caressing the clouds, like an exploded pot of molten lava. Sparks ignite up above me and blood pours, as the infinite glory of paradise descends further behind the seam of the world.

Four watches the ocean, transfixed by the rhythmic percussion of waves against sand. Eyes steady against the horizon, his handsome face aglow with the last glimmers of light today. His tempting lips bear the semblance of a smile, just enough to infer that he is enjoying his thoughts, whatever they may be.

Instinctively, I bat my stormy orbs down to his full lips, heart fluttering inside of my chest at the memory of their gentleness. Their deliberation and heat. It has barely been twenty-four hours since we kissed in the waves at midnight, but every nerve and cell in my body is aching for his intimate and trusting touch.

I drop my head, tilting my face away as my cheeks burn with uncertainty, the same constant questions spinning around in my head - _was it a mistake, to kiss somebody that I barely know? Is this too much too fast?_

I have been alone for so long, fighting my demons as a one-woman army. Marching into battle with nobody behind me, carrying my bruises like a tonne of bricks. It is in my roots to push people away, to run alone. A fighter, not a lover.

I spent the past few years completely isolated from the rest of the world, becoming a problem as opposed to a human being. Every bruise and bloody nose, every label and missed opportunity, only fuelled my initial response to build up walls to keep people away.

I could never have foreseen that my saviour would be in the form of Newport's resident golden boy. But, like me, it has become perfectly clear that he has layers to his perfect act - Four Eaton, in all of his enchanting glory, is not who I thought he was. Not by a long shot.

He is fire and rain, light and dark. He is a strange combination of the definite and the indefinite. Four is track teams and training programs, but he is also milkshakes and sunsets. An unpredictable tempest of secrets and transparency. A constant paradox.

Looking up once again, I find his gaze already settled upon me. The deep curve of his lips makes the world stop, focusing solely on our small corner of its mortality.

The precious dimple on his cheek warms my icy soul, and I am reminded of why I cannot bring myself to push him away anymore... he has the kind of smile that makes you feel happy to be alive.

Acting on pure adrenaline, I tilt my face upward, and slowly, inexorably, I press my lips to his. Stealing the words that could have been said, sealing my nagging feelings with an intimate gesture; how can I deny this magnetic attraction any longer?

I don't exactly understand what these unavoidable emotions really mean, but they remain hard to budge or eradicate. I am not ready to trust him completely, to lay down my cards, but I want to start somewhere.. I want to begin to let him see the real me. Scars and all.

His full lips move against mine without the innocence I felt last night, more like a tease, fiery, passionate and demanding. I want to pull away before I lose myself but I can't seem to do so; in this minty moment, my senses have been seduced and I cannot think straight.

"Tris." He whispers slowly against my mouth, prolonging each letter as if to savour them. I smile, my heart fluttering at his voice - never before has my name sounded so wonderful.

"Tell me your favourite movie." I request, pulling away far enough to see his inquisitive expression, my fingers twisted into his tee.

"I love that you feel comfortable kissing me like that," he murmurs, thumbing my bottom lip with a faint smile before responding to my enquiry. ".. to answer your question, I'd have to say The Breakfast Club. What can I say? I'm a retro kind of guy."

"Mhm, interesting. Ok - what about your all-time favourite novel? You were in the library yesterday looking for books.. I can only assume you like to read."

"In Cold Blood," Four answers with certainty. "Truman Capote is my literary hero - I've read almost all of his work, though I boycotted Breakfast at Tiffany's. Figured it's not exactly my style. What about you? What's your paperback poison?"

"Anything by Stephen King," I tell him instantly, not having to deliberate my answer in the slightest. "IT, Carrie, Pet Cemetery; you name it. His work may be a little adult-orientated, and slightly disturbing, but he just has such a way with words. I can never seem to put his books down."

"I am actually kind of glad you mentioned that," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. His content demeanour shifting to one of palpable anxiety. "They're playing a re-run of The Shining down at the movie theatre later this week. Maybe we could go.. y'know, _together_."

"Like a date?" I ask, suddenly overcome with an unfamiliar shyness. Cheeks stinging.

"Exactly like a date," he confirms, equally as bashful. "I mean, I don't know about you but I want to do this the right way."

"How do you mean?" I implore, pressing for an extended explanation; eager to hear his perception of the chaotic conflict of the unfamiliar attraction.

"This is all so new to me - and I know that it is to you too - and I don't want to push you into something rushed and hasty. I want to take you out on dates and get to know you, and I want you to know me too. Which is one of the reasons why I invited you out tonight; I figured that we could start from right now. I just want to do this properly, y'know?"

"We have all summer," I agree, overwhelmed with appreciation for his cautious and genuine approach. "There's no rush. I wanna know you - the _real_ you - and I want you to understand me too."

"So you will come to the movies with me?" The blue-eyed boy reiterates with a keen smile. "The popcorn is on me."

"Make it gummy worms and you've got yourself a date." I laugh, nodding along to his request. Attempting to remain outwardly casual, cautious of coming off to eager and overbearing.

"Deal," Four grins, openly running his calloused fingers through my blonde ponytail. "Though I must argue that gummy worms are very much inferior to the classic delights of Sour Patch Kids."

I pull away completely, slipping from his affectionate touch, my expression morphed into exaggerated disdain. "Are you crazy? Do you even _have_ working tastebuds?"

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault you lack the skills to taste pure greatness," he teases, laying back in the sand, face angled up to the lavender sky. "Let me guess, you like pineapple on your pizza too?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact! It is a combination that can only be comprehended by the most intelligent of minds." I declare, playfully, the sand tickling my skin as I lay down, my shoulder pressed against his firm bicep.

"God, I miss pizza," he groans, longingly. "My diet contains only protein shakes, greens and a variety of energising fruits. There's not much I wouldn't do for a 12-inch pizza pie."

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Greens and fruit? That's rabbit food. What about cake, soda? Sour Patch Kids? C'mon, surely you don't eat plain old salads _all_ the time?"

"Pretty much - training is ruthless. I spent the entire morning in strength cardio, as well as waking up at five to run around the neighbour hood for two hours. My diet depicts my energy, my ability to train to the best of my ability. But I'm a teenage guy, my appetite extends way beyond a fruit smoothie and a protein bar."

"I don't know how you do it," I admit, my tone laced with complete wonder. "Constant training and a monitored diet, whilst keeping a 4.0 GPA, being captain of the track team _and_ keeping up with the demand of your alter ego. I can barely arrive at school before second period most of the time."

"I escape it all after a long day in the best way that I know how," he admits, quietly, as if revealing a deep and dark secret. "I-I like to write. Not articles like you.. but fictional stories."

"Seriously? That's awesome! It takes a lot of talent to approach creative writing, a lot of imagination too. What kind of fiction do you write?"

"Anything," he sighs, happily. "Anything at all. Daring sword fights, magic spells, murderers in disguise. It's like a whole world under my control, a universe that I can manipulate to my hearts content. When I write.. I feel in control of something. I feel powerful."

"I'd love to read your stories one day," I tell him, truthfully. My face still tilted upward towards the darkening heavens. "Seriously - if you would feel comfortable sharing them with me, I would really like to give them a read."

"I've never told anybody that before. It's always been my secret passion, a significant part of my alter ego. Something just for me. I write for myself, not for my mom or my team. Or even my best friends. But that's just the problem.. it has to stay a secret. If my mom ever found out she would smash my laptop to pieces, break every pencil. Anything to eradicate distractions.."

"So it's your escape," I declare, knowingly. "A way to forget the pressure of your own life. The control you have been stripped of, you can access again through a world of pure imagination. You can regain power and authority over the characters you create."

"An escape," he echoes, despondently. "Yeah.. yeah, that sounds about right."

"I have a way to escape too," I whisper. "I have my own place - a treehouse. It has always been my safe place, the one place where I am safe from harm. Nobody can touch me. It's an escape from my reality. Deep in the woods, isolated from everything that tries to hurt me."

"We're both fucked up in one way or another, huh," he observes, chuckling darkly. "Maybe.. maybe the beach can be _our_ safe place. Our escape. We always end up here, on the sand or in the waves. And each time we convene here - night or day - I feel less and less alone. Perhaps this can be an escape we can share."

"I think I'd like that." I murmur, rolling onto my stomach and propping my head up in my hand, my other splayed out across his clothed chest.

Four wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, gently rubbing the exposed skin of my arm. Despite the heaviness of my heart, it flutters immensely at the feeling of his body against mine.

I sink into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch makes the night warmer somehow, my future within its shadows seeming a little less bleak.

The avoidance of touch - hugs especially - roots directly back to the affection from my mother. The care that slowly slipped through our fingers, shattering like glass.

In my mother's arms I was safe, and any worry I may have had disappeared like rain on summer earth. In that embrace, I was cocooned better than a butterfly-to-be. I would bathe in her warmth and her scent - not of cheap liquor and cigars - but lavender and baking.

Any memories of my mom have been replaced with the scent of wind and metal, ash and wood. The natural and safe perfume of the boy that has reinterpreted my take on a simple embrace.

I cannot eradicate my own distaste for physical contact for anybody else, way too pointless and uncomfortable, but with Four, I cannot get enough; he is the embodied equivalent to my treehouse. A _safe_ place.

"Hey, Tris," he eventually whispers into the newly stabilised twilight. "Are you hungry?"

 **-o-o-o-**

"Favourite character from any piece of literature?"

"Atticus Finch - To Kill a Mocking Bird. Er, who's your favourite famous fictional detective?"

"Easy! Nancy Drew, for sure. Inspiring strong women since the thirties. Ok, what's your guilty pleasure?"

"Drinking juice straight from the carton; the most enjoyable way to drink juice. Name one of your most-listened to songs."

"Cough Syrup by Young the Giant.. or Losing My Religion by R.E.M." I respond, pondering the best answer out loud, taking a long sip of my rich vanilla milkshake.

We have claimed a leather booth in _the old bean_ _cafe -_ having retreated from the beach as twilight settled _-_ sitting opposite to one another, indulging in our respective beverage choices and entertaining a quick-fire questions game.

It is fairly quiet tonight: only a small family of three, a straggly, meek-looking elderly man pouring himself into the pages of a newspaper, and a juvenile quartet of freshman, clearly out way past their curfew.

"All-time favourite line from a movie?" I ask, curiously. Happy to go along with his idea of a game, genuinely eager to learn more about the complex track star before me.

" _Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club_ ," Four tells me, a smirk adorning his lips. "Or maybe, _I feel the need for speed_ \- Top Gun."

"Figures," I laugh, shaking my head in amusement. "You are quite the movie dork, huh? I swear, you're just full of surprises. Will I ever be able to work you out?"

"A little mystery never did anyone any harm," he shrugs, playfully. "Besides, I'm sure you'll figure me out eventually. I think it's me who has the challenge - how can I decipher a one-woman armada with no help whatsoever?"

"A little mystery never did anyone any harm." I mock, resting my chin upon a closed fist, smiling widely.

"Very clever," he mutters, but the amused grin gives away his faux annoyance. "Just drink your milkshake and stop verbally attacking me."

"Don't you tell me what to do, wonder boy. It's me who calls the shots, remember?" I fire back, haughtily, amping up our teasing to another level. Challenging his competitive nature.

"Not a chance," Four responds, his electric blue eyes gazing into mine. Sending a shiver down my spine, every part of my body magnetising towards him. "Then again..."

"Then again?" I echo, biting down onto the surface of my lower lip.

"I would be more than willing to let you lead me anywhere, boss me around to your hearts content. So long as you stayed right where you are - across from me in a booth, looking at me like _that_ , with those big, beautiful eyes."

I straighten up in my seat, narrowing my stormy orbs to glare in his direction. Attempting to regain any slithers of my infamous hard exterior. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not looking at you in any way that would be considered _positive_."

"Mmhm," he hums to himself in satisfaction, taking a sip of his wild berry smoothie. "Whatever you say."

"Back to our original topic of conversation," I divert away from irritating territory, forcing an icy chill into my tone of voice. "What's your favourite superhero-"

"Four? Tris?" A male voice exclaims from across the cafe, and we simultaneously twist our necks to spot a certain caramel-skinned boy with a wide grin. And to my surprise, accompanying the powerhouse of confidence that strode into my life without a single falter. "Is that you guys?"

"Zeke, hey man," Four greets as his best friend ambles over to our booth, Christina in tow. "Are you two here.. er, together?"

"Not like that - simply platonic," Christina scoffs, sliding into the booth beside me, uninvited. "Zeke took me home last night - as I was in too much of a drunken stupor to find my own way back - and I promised him a burger to make up for it."

"She held a great bargain; how could I possibly turn down a burger? You know me and my appetite." Zeke shrugs, taking a seat next to Four, slouching against the leather.

"We aren't crashing a.. _date_ , or anything, right?" Christina suddenly asks, glancing between the two of us with curious eyes. A perfect eyebrow arched in inquisition.

I exchange a questionable look with the blue-eyed boy across the booth, undecided on how to answer; does he care if we are honest and fess up to our attraction? Or should I cover up the date-orientated scenario with a fabrication of the truth? Before I get the chance to quickly resolve the internal conflict inside of my head, Four beats me to it.

"Yes, actually," he confesses, casually, as if it was not a big thing at all. I don't know whether to be relieved or stung by his disregard. "But I suppose more the merrier, right?"

"Right, no worries. We were just about to order some food." I agree, fighting to keep the disappointment away. Sparing a glance at Four who watches me in turn, apologetically.

"Okay, great," Zeke brushes it off, grabbing at a menu that sits behind the usual tabletop condiments. "Should I get a bacon cheese burger, or just a double cheese.."

I stop listening to his struggle to decide an order, as soon as a hand grasp mine beneath the table. Fingers twisting into and caressing my own. A silent, physical apology for the interruption. Pushing aside my frustration, I squeeze his hand back, mutely signalling my understanding.

"You guys had the right idea, heading off last night when you did." Zeke commends us, and it is then that I notice a deep scratch across his right cheek. Deep and sore.

"What happened?" Four asks, curiously. "I hate to think of the aftermath that came with that _stupid_ game."

"Absolute anarchy," Christina tells us, stealing a small sip from my milkshake. "Everybody was shouting and yelling. Peter was fuming mad that you punched him - he was breaking things and screaming at anyone who told him to calm down. And there was one heck of a cat fight."

"I've never seen girls fight like that," Zeke chimes in, shaking his head, seemingly still in disbelief. "Hair extensions were flying everywhere, press-on nails became air-born. I mean, Shauna was wild-"

"Shauna?" I exclaim, cutting his story off, astounded. "You can't possibly mean that _Shauna_ was in this fight? She wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"She was pretty pissed that Nita exposed her cheating tactics to presidency. Mix that with the half a bottle of liquor that she drank, and you've got one hell of a problem on your hands. I mean, look at what she did to Zeke when he tried to get in the middle of them."

"Hurts like a bitch," the dark-skinned boy grimaces, cautiously dabbing at the scratch with the pad of his finger. "I'm still waiting for an apology, in fact. After I managed to prise her from Nita, she left in a storm, pushing through people and crying."

"I called her mom this morning to check she got home okay, and she's apparently safe in her bed. But she doesn't want to see any of us right now." Christina adds, sadly; they are best friends after all, and although she lied, her wellbeing is still important to the eccentric brunette.

"She'll come around," I assure Christina, gently. Attempting to console her. "Just give her a little time."

"I just can't believe she lied to us about it! We're supposed to be friends, aren't we? And friends tell each other the _truth_. I didn't figure I'd have to find out how she really became president through a manipulative game, created by Nita and her minions."

"There are a lot of things that need explaining." Zeke agrees, casting Four a sideways glance that tells me everything I need to know.

"I'm thirsty," I announce, deciding to take the hint and leave the two friends to discuss what needs to be. "C'mon, Chris. I am in the mood for a frozen lemonade right about now."

I usher a confused Christina out of the booth, catching the grateful smile given to me by both of the guys. Appreciative for the privacy. Besides, I have my own agenda for the night; there was another truth revealed in Nita's twisted game, one that I am keen to know more about: a certain summer romance.

"We have a _lot_ to talk about," she declares with a giggle, before I get the chance. Looping her arm around mine. "Starting with your newfound friendship with Newport's finest bachelor and resident golden boy! Spill!"

"No way. I vote that we start with _you_. I mean - not to overstep, and let me know if you want me to back off - what was Nita talking about exactly.. y'know, your summer relationship?"

"I guessed you would bring that up," Christina sighs as we approach the register. "It was just a summer fling. A one time thing - an experiment, if you will. It was exciting! Sneaking around like we did, trying not to get caught. I think we both wanted more.. but it could never have been. Besides, I'm more into guys, anyhow."

"Was that who you meant when I asked if you had ever loved somebody?" I enquire, softly, not wanting to upset or offend her.

"Yeah. And like I said to you then, it only hurt me in the end. I was left with a mouthful of rejection and painful memories. She didn't want a real relationship, she just wanted to mess around. I suppose that's what hurt more - over all that time, _I_ was the one who fell head over heels for her. While she felt nothing at all."

After ordering a frozen lemonade and a rose-infused sparkling water, we decide to give the guys a little more time, and to have our own privacy to continue a much-needed discussion. Sitting at a small rounded table close to the door, hunched over our respective drinks.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," I tell her, honestly. "I guess it provides a little more reasoning to your take-no-prisoners of love attitude. Y'know - never wear your heart on your sleeve. To play rather than to be played."

"Love is a losers game," she shrugs, bitterly, pain flashing in her chocolate brown eyes. Giving me a glimpse into the heartbreak-filled coming of fall. "I don't want to put myself out on the line again, if I'm only going to get played for a fool. Treated as if I don't matter."

"You _do_ matter. And one day, I know that you are going to find a handsome, amazing guy that is going to sweep you off your feet and change your puppeteer ways."

"Easy for you to say," she teases, lightening the mood considerably. "We don't all have our own knight in shining track uniform. I must admit, it is an unexpected match, but I actually kind of dig it."

My cheeks set on fire, burning and tingling my skin as I bat my eyes away from hers. "It's not like that.. ok, well maybe it is. I don't know what it is about him, but I can't stay away. Trust me, I've tried to pull and push my way out, but every time we end up right back where we started - together."

"If it isn't obvious in the way you are blushing, _or_ the way he looks at you, I would take a guess and say it's a sure thing."

"I thought we were _too_ different," I admit. "We are from two different planets. And it's all happened so quickly; discovering him and his life, feeling so compelled to find out more. But he's not as perfect as he is perceived to be, we have a lot more in common than I first thought. Am I crazy?"

"Tris!" She laughs, happily. "Of course you aren't crazy - you're young, it's summer. Sometimes people find each other in unexpected ways, at unexpected times. Enjoy it! You're beginning to find yourself, to come out of your cynical and isolated shell. It's okay to feel overwhelmed and like it's moving too fast, but don't let it get in the way of something that could really make you happy."

"I'm just.. well, I'm not experienced with any of this stuff. I don't want to let anyone down, or make a mess of everything. I have a bad habit of destroying everything that I touch."

"Just look at how far you have come - it's been two weeks into summer and you have already accomplished a lot," Christina reminds me. "I mean, you befriended me - which is vey challenging in itself. Just don't overthink it; this time goes by so quickly, don't make the mistake of letting something go that could really change you for the better. One summer can change _everything_."

I attempt to picture it in my head - a summer filled with adventure and friendship; milkshakes and midnight trips to the beach; slumber parties and music beside the river; warm evenings spent crowded into a booth at the old bean and early morning escapades to the library with Four. A time of freedom and independence - the opportunity to find myself, the girl I could have been. The girl I can still be.

I look over to the booth that Four and Zeke occupy, laughing and smiling through their deep and truthful conversation. Accidentally catching a pair of electric blue eyes, ones that bore so intently into mine that an enchanted shiver vibrates against my spine.

A set of beautiful eyes that hold the key to a better life - the opportunity for me to heal the part of myself that is holding me back from happiness. The chance to find out what it really means to be _me_.

"Tris," a deep voice calls out, breaking my thought-filed stupor. "Tris, I need you to come with me."

Beanie - the rounded and loveable owner of _the old bean_ \- stands visibly frustrated by the entrance to the cafe. His warm brown eyes conveying an unsettling combination of pity and annoyance.

"What?" I ask, puzzled, slowly standing as requested. Christina following suit. "Why? What's happened, Beanie?"

"It's your mom. I need you to take her home - she's driving away customers and frightening some of the tourists. If you don't take her away I have to call the police as an obligation to my customers." He tells me, solemnly, through gritted teeth. Sloppily containing his anger.

"My mom?" I echo, dread bursting open in my chest. My mouth suddenly bone dry.

"Is everything okay over here?" Zeke asks in a concerned manner, trailing behind his worried best friend.

Ignoring them, I elbow my way out into the street, where a group of tourists and locals alike gape at a dishevelled woman staggering around outside the cafe, a half-empty vodka bottle clasped tightly in her hand. She shouts and slurs obscenities at those watching in horror, stricken by her drunk and irrational state.

Noticing my presence, she stumbles over to me, flinging her arms around my neck. Her breath is sour and stale, and her lips are chapped as she placed a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

"Tris," she slurs, hysterically. "My baby! I have missed you, I'm all alone without you. Baby-my baby girl, will you come home? Come home! Come home!"

"I'm so sorry," I tell Beanie, overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment. Avoiding the wide eyes of my friends. "I'll take her home. God, I'm so sorry."

"Do you need a cab? A ride home? Anything you need, dear. Never hesitate to let me know." He offers, and I internally scream at the sympathy radiating from his kind eyes.

"I can take it from here." I tell him, firmly, wrapping a reluctant arm around my drunk and incoherent mother. She doesn't deserve my help, but as much as I would love to see her rot in hell, she is still my mother. I cannot bring myself to leave her like this.

"Tris," Four pleads, visibly astounded by the scene before him. "Please let us help you. There's no way you can take her home all by yourself-"

"No!" I snap, coldly; determined to keep him as far away from my fucked up family as possible. "I can handle her."

"I'm so sorry," my mom wails, bursting into tears and clinging to me desperately. "I never meant to hurt you, Max just gets so mad. He never means to give you the bruises- you're my baby girl!"

" _Tris_." Christina begs with watery eyes, hiding behind Zeke slightly; frightened of the woman who raised me.

I turn away, supporting the weight of my mom who staggers after me, babbling loud apologies and pleas to come home. The eyes of onlookers follow us all the way down the town street, and my cheeks burn with complete mortification. Cursing my compulsive nature to take care of this broken woman.

I prepare myself for what is to come, for what is to follow my arrival at the gates of hell. Satan lurking in the shadows, sharpening his pitchfork, intoxicated and filled with unadulterated rage.

I am returning to the four walls that contain my childhood memories - what was once my _home_.

And I am certain of the violent demon that await me.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Sorry for the late chapter, but I took a long time to write this chapter. Taking extra care with the dialogue and attempting to put Tris' feelings into perspective.**

 **The next chapter will be triggering for some readers, but there will also be some beautiful FourTris fluff to even out the dark content. The chapter will be fairly long and angsty, I'll try to have it up within the next week!**

 **Also, THANK YOU for the support on this story. 8 chapters in and you guys are already making my heart swell from all of your lovely reviews and private messages. Love every single one of you amazing readers! :)**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	10. Chapter 10

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 10 {Tris' POV}**

 **WARNING: DARK THEMES~Trigger Warning**

 **-o-o-o-**

I can feel the sweat drench my skin, the throbbing of my own eyes, the thumping of my heart against my ribcage.

My fingers are curled into a fist, nails digging into my palms. I can't hear my rapid breathing, but I can feel the oxygen flooding in and out of my lungs.

Hesitantly, my eyes bat up to the top of the staircase, sensing a scrutinising presence. A shadowed figure stands in the darkness, glowering at us down the flight of steep stairs.

Fear tortures my guts, churning my stomach with tense cramps. It engulfs my conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside. Fear overwhelms my entire body, making it drastically exhausted.

Mom releases me from her grip, hanging onto a nearby coffee table for balance, bringing the liquor bottle to her lips for another paralysing gulp. I dig my nails further into the sensitive flesh of my palms, disgusted by her actions.

Slowly, I retreat back toward the open front door - the gateway to freedom, my ticket to immunity. My footfalls are deliberate and quiet, and I keep my eyes glued to the menacing figure. Nasty eyes piercing through the shadows.

"Stay right where you are," he growls, beginning to make his way down the staircase. "If you even consider running, I will come down on you ten times harder. And remember, _Beatrice_ , I do not make empty threats."

"I don't want any trouble. I just brought my mom home, she was drunk and alone on the streets. That's all..." I insist, cursing myself for the terror-stricken wobble of my voice.

"You may have come here out of the goodness of your heart," Max mocks, tightening his grip on his own liquor bottle as he reaches the foot of the stairs. "But you will _stay_ under my command. Now, close the door; if you think you are going anywhere tonight, you are very much mistaken."

Obediently, immobilised by fear, I reach behind me with a fumbling hand to shut the front door; I do not regard making a break for it as a viable option. He would catch me, and I would be unconscious within two excruciating minutes. My best chance is to distract him until I can formulate an appropriate escape route.

"Do come through," he adds, levelly. His gravelled tone _too_ calm. "Being that you don't live here anymore, it is lovely of you to take the time out of your pointless and worthless life to come and visit us. The people that raised your ungrateful, filthy ass."

"Max, don't be so hard on her-"

"I'll do what I damn well please," he growls, cutting off my mother's barely coherent protest. "I've had it up to here with your games, Natalie. Wandering off into town, drunk as shit and embarrassing yourself no doubt. _Don't_ test my patience."

I sit on the small couch with palpable anxiety, adrenaline pumping through my veins, goading my body's fight or flight response.

Max's dark and brutal eyes bore into the side of my head, and I look down into my lap, submissively; provoking him with a stare would not be wise.

Unlike my mother, when the time comes, I can assert my confidence and my strong-hearted nature. I can stand up for myself with the quick-witted fly of my tongue. Using my words as a lethal weapon to desensitise and often aggravate my opponent.

She is the kind of woman to lie down and take what comes her way, putting up no signs of a fight. Whereas I am more likely to go down battling, accepting no defeat.

The thick silence in the room is unbearable - like a sticky and stifling heat, scorching and ultimately wallowing. It is a poison; it is like the suspended moment in time before glass shatters against the ground. It makes my blood run cold and every sense heighten, alert with sheer terror.

Silence is never a good thing. Not in this house of clamorous demons.

"Let's put on some music, why don't we?" Mom slurs, staggering over to the sound system and switching it on. An old Barry Manilow song spills out into the open space, at an obnoxiously high volume.

"Turn that ruckus off, this instant." Max seethes, hands gripping the arm of his chair so intently that his knuckles pale.

"Come on, Max," she pleads, laughing away his aggressive tone and holding out her hands for him to join in. "Look at my new dress - I bought it especially, so we could go dancing. D-don't you love it?"

I feel as though the last few months have been wiped away, and I never even left this fucking house of horrors; I am back where I started, bracing myself for the impending great flame of anger. Curled into myself, breathing laboured, fingers trembling.

"Turn. It. Off." He repeats, darkly, teeth gritted and eyes practically bulging from their sockets. His voice the ultimate epitome of doom.

"Dance with me," Mom insists, waltzing around the room, drunkenly, singing along incoherently. "Come on! Let's have some fun for once-"

The air is suddenly rent by the sound of breaking glass - her liquor bottle hitting the ground and shattering. Other than a gunshot, nothing could get my attention faster. My heart accelerates tenfold in my chest.

I am the first on my feet, back pressed against the plastered wall, bracing myself for the chaos that is about to ensue.

"Look what you did, you stupid woman!" Max bellows, rising from his armchair and flying toward my Mom, twisting her blonde tresses into his hand and pulling as hard as he can. "Do you think I care about the dress? You can't do _anything_ right! Good-for-nothing piece of garbage!"

"Let me go. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She wails, making no move to struggle away from his grip, but hysterically crying and apologising all the same.

I instantly recoil, a salty tear slipping down my cheek, as he draws back a hand and she falls with the pressure and strength of his hit. Pulling back a foot, he buries it into her stomach and she cries out in agony, face buried into the plush carpet.

My mom lies on the floor, blood seeping between her fingers, potential ribs fractured. There will be no doctor, no evidence, and after tonight he will grovel for her forgiveness, only betraying it all over again once he loses his temper.

From the outside, it is a perfect marriage; only smiles and flowers for no occasion, friendly chats with neighbours and intimate lunch dates. Yet, she hides away her bruised ribs and the purple flowers that bloom along her legs.

I wipe away the lone tear, knowing that my weakness is his strength - he feeds from it.. _gets off_ on it. Crying only encourages his warped thirst for trauma. Placidity is my only hope.

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic, drivelling woman," he sneers, fists clenched promisingly at his side. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions and no protests. Do you understand?"

"I understand." My mom sobs, crawling back into a small corner, wrapped up in a tight ball. Her hands cover her face, crimson sliding along her wrists and coating her fingers. Curling into her shell like a submissive turtle.

I slowly move along the wall toward the door, acting on his distraction. I cannot consider sticking around to protect my mom; she has left me to be beaten and assaulted in unspeakable ways, with no thought for my wellbeing. She doesn't really care about me, and I know that staying to protect her would be foolish.

I have been raised under the heavy influence of abuse and alcohol, I have learnt that taking care of myself should be my first priority. Which is why I need to get out. _Now_.

The back door is closest in proxemics, and I know the perfect escape route: over the fence and into the backyard next door, then up and over their gate, out on to the street. There is a 50% chance that the door is locked shut, but it is a risk that I must take.

I inch my way over to the armchair, holding my breath, praying that his attention remains occupied on my mother for the moment. Maybe while he's distracted chasing after me, she could make her own escape. Although, that kind of independence and courage is a foreign concept, so the odds really aren't in her favour.

"Tris," she suddenly yelps with a fresh round of tears, noticing my attempt of silent escape. Overcome with selfishness. "Tris don't you _dare_ try and leave me! Get back here you horrible girl."

Max whips around to face me, angrily. Every part of his body language signifying his primitive rage. What could arguably the most unsettling factor of my capture, is the inappropriate glint in his eye, and the way his gaze explicitly lingers.

I swallow, praying that he doesn't take it that far, that he will spare me of the humiliation and trauma.

"Perhaps it is time for us to have a little.. homecoming chat," he suggests, strutting toward me, eyes roaming my body with a lustrous shine. Making me nauseous with dread. "It's been such a long time."

I almost gag as he becomes close enough to touch me, grabbing my wrists and holding them at my sides before pushing his body flush against my own. Nose skimming my neck, loudly inhaling. My body trembles with fear, and my eyes cloud over with tears. Unable to suppress them.

"Why don't we take this upstairs? You can express how sorry you are for running from me, and not coming home. And maybe then I won't lock you away.." Max whispers, hauntingly, against my ear. His breath hot and thick with alcohol and something stronger, the tone of his voice laced with repulsive seductiveness.

"Go to hell." I grit out, bringing back my knee and driving it into his crotch. Shaking with relief as he releases his grip, stumbling back in agony.

Using his injury to my advantage, I make a foolish dash toward the back door, wiggling the door handle in despair, tears cascading desperately down my cheeks - _locked_.

A strong and determined hand pulls me back by the scruff of my neck, slamming me against the nearest wall. My head jolting back and hitting the wooden frame of a picture. I withhold a whimper of pain, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

"I don't know if you have forgotten, but in this house, _I_ am in charge. _I_ call the shots. You will do as I say, you worthless piece of filth." Max growls, his face too close to my own. "Do you understand? _Tell me_ you understand."

I glare back into his black eyes, unyielding. I don't care about provoking him any longer, the fire inside of me just too wild to put out. "I don't answer to you. I am not yours to claim, to hurt, or to sexually assault. I am a _child_. And you are just screwed in the head-"

I barely register the fist colliding with my face until I am seeing stars and blood pools in my mouth. Pain erupts from the point of impact, and I spit the scarlet intrusion at my attacker, emptying my mouth.

Another jab at my temple has me reeling, dizzy with the pain his fists have inflicted. It takes only a brutal kick to the ribs to send me collapsing in a heap of limbs to the ground.

Stubbornly, I attempt to get up but quickly realise how futile it is when I have to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out in pain. Sharp pain lances through my head and colourful spots full my vision. My ribs are screaming in agony, and blood still bubbles from my lips, coating them in metallic, liquid red.

"You are _mine_ ," he bellows, his voice the equivalent to a rumble of loud thunder. "Do you hear me? You spoilt brat! If I want to punish you in the way that God chose, then I shall do just that - this is for your own good."

I am suddenly on my feet, his thick fingers clasping around my upper-arm, nails digging into the supple flesh, hard enough to draw more blood. Max begins to pull me toward the staircase, and it is now that I find my will to fight back, despite the unbearable pain.

Thrashing and screaming, I pull and push away, using every scrap of my strength and might to escape his grasp. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, the pain overpowered by my desperation to get away from this monster.

My mind involuntarily flashes back to the handful of unforgettable times that he has pinned me down to his bed, hand over my mouth to muffle the screams, violating me in the worst way possible.

The repulsive and dark memories only fuel my determination, kicking and fighting, using my spare hand to beat against his chest.

Unruffled by my attempts to fight against his ruthless power, he manages to successfully pull me up the steep staircase, his nails piercing my skin deeper and deeper.

"Stop struggling!" He shouts, pushing me against the adjacent wall in the upstairs hall, hands around my neck. Cutting off my air supply.

"No," I croak, thrashing my legs to collide with any body part that I can reach. "I'll.. never stop..fighting."

In a sudden and rather lucky turn of events, he growls close to my face before grasping a door handle to our left, flinging it open and pushing me inside. Slamming it closed before I can even relish in my relief of being locked away from that horrid beast.

"You can come out when you learn to be a loving daughter," Max roars from the other side of the door. "If you still feel like being such a bitch and denying me my _right_ to your body, you can rot there until you starve to death for all I care. No one would miss you. You're a worthless little girl with no purpose, no meaning. I'm the best thing that could ever happen to you."

I lie in the darkness, sobbing into my hands, every part of my body aching and burning. The pain overwhelming any and all senses, leaving me paralysed and unable to comprehend my current situation to an intelligent extent.

I have never seen him endowed in such rage - primal and animalistic. Like a furious volcano at bursting point, killing all in its path with no remorse or guilt. A man on a malevolent war path, thirsty for blood and suffering.

The closet that he has barricaded me into is a shackle of fear, weighing me down and keeping me a prisoner. I force myself to sit upright - gritting my teeth through the agony - propping my sore spine up against the wall. Biting my knuckles to keep from screeching.

I have seen darkness before: the kind that covers the beach at midnight, and the sort that appears in the black and white articles I am so familiar with. But those ebony experiences are nothing like what I am surrounded with.

This is the darkness that robs you of your best sense and replaces it with crippling fear. In the blackness I sit, tears mingling on my cheeks, barely breathing. I only know that my eyes are still intact as I can feel the brush of my wet eyelashes upon blinking, still routinely hydrating organs that I have no use for.

There is an invisible string that pulls me toward a deep pit of unconsciousness, and I feel myself edging further and further into the powerless state of insensibility - a comatose danger that I must avoid. Slipping into oblivion with no comprehension of my injuries could be fatal; I must keep myself alert and very much awake.

I struggle to capture a sole train of thought to promote my hope and faith, until grasping onto one thing that makes my heart flutter and my happiness soar upward - _Four._

My thoughts accelerate into a dream-like figment; a pair of electric-blue eyes keep me grounded, and I imagine the surreal feeling of his lips against mine, banishing all of the bad, the cruel and the hellish fiends.

I picture his strong arms cradling me to his broad chest, his hand stroking my hair, telling me that with him, nothing can touch me ever again. With him, I am safe from harm.

To me, he is more beautiful than the winter sun above pristine snow; he is warmer than spring sunshine on soft new grass; he is more mesmerising than autumnal leaves. Yet, I still perceive him to be an eternal state of summer, for everyday with him is blue skies and peaceful meadows.

My attraction to him lies beyond his good looks - I am enchanted by his soul, the person he is inside. And how somebody so genuine and kind and caring, could ever consider someone like me to be worth even a second of their time, is beyond my entire understanding.

I frown into the dark, imagining his voice in my head, my dizzied mind tricking me into letting my creativity run wild: _Tris, be brave. I want you to come to me, let me help you. Get out of there, you're smart enough to find a way._

Whether the voice is simply a trick of the mind, a figment of my imagination, doesn't matter - I know that sitting here in this closet is going to get me killed, one way or another.

I cannot abandon who I am in times of trouble; if I have to go down, I'm going to put up one heck of a struggle. Nobody - especially not Max - is going to take away the fight left inside of me.

I am in need of a hero, so a hero is what I must become.

I force myself forward on my hands and knees, running a palm over the locked wooden door that prevents my freedom. I know I have to be smart about this; I am not naive enough to believe that I could kick down such a heavy door. So there has to be another way.

Continuing to search the doors surface with my hand, I manage to reach the metal handle, equipped with its own adjoined key system. One that seems to be accessible from both sides, working to my advantage.

A wave of intense pain washes over my body and I bite my tongue, willing myself to keep the noises to a minimum. At least until I am safe enough to make them. Pushing aside the tormenting affliction with a stubborn resolve.

In a sudden flash of brilliance, I pull the bobby pin from my ponytail, bending it with my teeth to form a key shape.

Wiggling it into the lock and adjusting it continuously, until a victorious click sounds and I let out a huge sigh of relief. But this is only the first part of my mission - I still have to make it downstairs and out of the front door, undetected.

Pulling myself up to a standing position, I clutch onto the doorframe for balance, wheezing with every intake of breath that strains my ribcage. One of the more serious of my many injuries. I will find a way to discreetly handle those later.

I edge myself around a small crack in the door, stepping out into the deserted and darkened upstairs hallway.

Leaving the consuming shadows of the closet behind me. Making my way to the staircase, I hold my breath as I descend each step, praying to anyone that is kind enough to listen that I remain silent and unheard, that I make it out with no further wounds and bruises; I don't think that I could take much more pain and truly deliberate torture.

Upon reaching the last step, I abandon all intentions of remaining quiet - breaking out into a sprint, I make a dash for the unlocked door and pull it open. Not hesitating for even a split second as I run down the garden path, leaving the front door wide open behind me.

Tears blind me as I run, my body screaming and pleading with me to slow down and treat the pain. My breath comes in small spurts, hot and nervous. Heart pounding, thighs burning, lungs on fire, praying not to trip. Panic trembling from my exhausted limbs.

As I continue my flat-out sprint - encouraged by my rush of adrenaline- the fear finds me once again. Speaking to me in its cackling voice. It persuades my legs to weaken, my stomach to lurch and my chest to ache unbearably.

Spotting a crevice of a low garden wall, concealed by dense shrubbery, I take my chance and quickly make my way into the camouflage that it so graciously provides.

With one violent contradiction the congealed contents of my stomach emerge into the warm night, nothing digested since lunchtime. I sink to my knees and heave until only clear liquid is present. I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, shivering despite the humidity of the air.

My throat feels sore from the stomach acid that layers it and there is a sour taste in my mouth. The stomach-acid stench fills my nose and I survey the mess with watery eyes.

I reach for the waistband of my pants, suddenly remembering that I stashed my cellphone there upon entering that house. Within all of the mayhem, I had completely forgotten that I had hidden it.

Pulling it out, I stare at the screen, an internal conflict claiming common ground within my head. Do I call for help? 911? Or do I just hobble back to my treehouse and hope that my injuries are not fatal?

I have a small stash of bandages and medication to get me through the night, but with the condition of my ribs, I am not so sure that I'd be able to climb up the ladder to reach them.

With a few clicks, I have pulled up a contact that is my best chance to seek safety and properly tend to my injuries; I wanted to keep him as far away from this shit as possible, but right now, I don't have any other choice.

I hold the phone to my ear, lips trembling and shoulders heaving, praying that he picks up. My lashes are damp with tears, and my spare hand opens and closes, rhythmically clenching like there is a violent solution, if only I could find it.

"Tris," his clear voice fills my ear and I exhale shakily, filled with relief. "Tris, thank God you called. I was so worried. Where are you? Fuck - are you ok?"

"I need you." I tell him in a small voice, wincing at the sharp twinge on my ribcage.

"I'm here," Four tells me, earnestly. "Where are you? Do you need me to come and get you?"

"I need to be someplace safe.. I-I have nowhere else to go. I didn't know who to call. I'm hurt and I can't go home, I don't have anybody else who I can trust with this. Will you help me?"

"Of course I'll help you. You can come to my place, ok? My mom has already knocked back a dozen sleeping pills so she'll be out like a light until morning. I'm going to give you my address, can you make it there? How hurt are you?"

"I can make it," I assure him, screwing my eyes shut in pain, the adrenaline beginning to wear off. "I'm sorry to put this all on your shoulders-"

"You have nothing to apologise for; I'm so glad you called and asked for my help. I just need you to find my address, and I'll be waiting at the door for you, ok? You will be safe." He promises, voice scratchy and rough.

The address he gives me is barely two minutes away, and I hobble along the sidewalk, clutching my side with one hand and cradling my cell to my ear with the other.

With each step the pain is amplified, and I am hyper aware of the blood that is oozing out of several wounds, once again beginning to fill my mouth. It's metallic taste drowning out the acidic remains.

The agony is an icy wind choking the breath from my lungs and making a noose around my neck. It's savage, bitter blast cuts right through to my bones and grips my brain in its cold claws. My heart constricts in its wake, freezing and shivering.

"Tris? Tris? Are you ok? Talk to me..stay with me." Four asks urgently into the receiver, tone laced with nerves and desperation.

"Almost there," I croak, turning the corner onto his street, my limp becoming almost unworkable. I whimper. "It hurts so bad."

"I know, I know, but I'm going to take care of you. You're almost here, ok, you're doing great. Just push a little bit further." He encourages in the sweetest and most soothing voice I have ever heard.

I pause at the gate to his yard, gripping onto their mailbox as I disgorge a mouthful of blood, spitting it out onto the sidewalk, head spinning.

I consider turning back, repulsed at the idea of him seeing me this way, and the questions that will surely follow. But surveying the scarlet fluid at my feet, wiping my mouth with my hand, I know that I won't even make it to the end of the street.

I lurch across his front yard, quietly, watching the front door creak open. Four stands in the gap between the frame and the door - and if in any other situation, I would have taken the time to admire his bare chest and the skin revealed by his lowly slung sweatpants - expression contorted into one of unadulterated horror.

"Shit, Tris," he murmurs as I stand before him, quickly ushering me inside. "I have medical stuff in my bedroom - can you make it up the stairs?"

I nod, bravely, fumbling with my cellphone to hang up our ongoing call. The house is dark and the stairs are steep, but despite all of the oppressing odds, we manage to make it upstairs and into his bedroom without making a single sound.

Four shuts the door behind us, clicking the lock shut before flicking on the bright lamp on his bedside table, illuminating the small and tidy room with golden hues of light.

Daring to glance into the mirror upon the wall, I almost burst into exasperated tears at my appearance - pale as a sheet, swollen lips soaked with blood, tear stained cheeks and a black ring beginning to bruise steadily around my eye.

I look like absolute _hell_.

Four's eyes are wide and glassed over, a strange combination of fury and panic laced into the crystal pools. He meets my distraught gaze in the reflection, biting into the inside of his cheek.

"Sit down," he insists, guiding me over to his leather desk chair, flinching as I wince. Before scrambling to retrieve a first aid kit. "It's going to be alright. You're safe now."

He grabs a thin, black comforter from the edge of his bed, quickly wrapping it around my shoulders, cautiously. Zipping open the kit, I watch with a lazy stare as he pulls out bandages, ointment, gauze sponges and alcohol-free wipes. His hands tremble slightly, fingers fumbling over the supplies.

"Where does it hurt the most?" Four asks, glancing up from his pile of remedies. The concern in his voice both unsettling and upsetting me.

"My mouth," I murmur, gesturing to the bloodbath upon my lips. "I don't know what happened to it - it just keeps bleeding and bleeding.."

He uses both hands to cup the side of my face, his thumbs gently touching the corners of my mouth. "Open up, I'll take a look."

With great hesitation, I open my mouth, allowing my eyes to flutter closed as he takes a look for a few seconds, attempting to find the source of the constant trail of blood. His breath is warm and minty on my skin, and I relish in the beautiful contrast from Max's stale and foul wheezes.

"There's a deep gash in your cheek," he eventually concludes, taking away his hands and reaching for a small gauze bandage. He positions it against my cheek with careful fingers. "Bite down on that for a few minutes; it will stop the bleeding, and once that is under control, we'll see about cleaning it. I'm sure I have solution for just that.."

As requested, I bite down on the soft gauze, keeping dead still as Four continues to silently tend to the other minor wounds on my face, as well as the small cut on my temple. I wince as the antiseptic wipe touches my skin, my eyes once again screwing closed.

"I'm almost done." He assures me, voice tight with guilt and animosity. His spare hand slips into my own, and I squeeze it tightly as ointment is applied to the side of my head.

Upon removing the gauze bandage and taking a few sips of water from a glass offered, I inhale sharply - causing me to grimace - as his lips brush my knuckles, tenderly. Eyes moist with an emotion that I cannot label.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Four asks, quietly. "Before you deny it, I could tell by the way you were hobbling and clutching your side.. it looked pretty serious."

"My ribs.."

"Ok, I'm going to need you to take off your shirt," I send him a timid glance, and his eyes soften in a way that makes my fingertips tingle. "I won't hurt you. I just need better access to your ribcage. You can trust me."

Taking a deep breath, I cautiously remove my tee, pulling it over my head with a whimper of pain. The strain on my stomach dizzying. I abandon the shirt on the floor, leaving me in a lacy turquoise bralette.

Keeping my eyes focused on his bare chest, not daring to look down at the horrors plastered across my skin.

"Fuckin' hell," Four mutters, hoarsely. "What happened to you? It looks like you were hit by a freight train."

I courageously flit my eyes downward, a lone tear sliding along my cheek. Purple spots and black shadows scatter across my ribs like a disease. A mirage of dark ravens soaring across indigo skies. Brandishing my pale skin with the deadly beat of their wings.

"You need ice," he decides, standing from where he crouched on the carpet before me. "I'll be right back.. hang tight, ok?"

"Okay." I echo with a wheeze, attempting to steady my breaths whilst watching him disappear into the darkened hallway.

To distract myself from the mosaic of bruises adorning my stomach, I look around his bedroom, taking in the interior decoration. It is neat and uncluttered, everything organised and coordinated.

The open closet contains his clothes, ordered and grouped by colour and shade, and the desk is immaculate and arranged to please. It looks nothing like how I would predict a teenage boy's cave to look - dark and messy, littered with empty pizza boxes and dirty socks.

This bedroom is a mirror of one from a fancy magazine or a showroom. Flawless and pristine, but with no insight into the person who occupies it.

There is a long shelf nailed into the longer wall, extending from one corner to the other, lined with dozens of trophies, medals and certificates. Glinting proudly on display, each placed so specifically that I have trouble believing that Four orchestrated the impressive exhibition.

The door to the bedroom opens once more, and Four comes into view, locking it again behind him. A bag of frozen peas in his large hand and a sheepish expression upon his handsome face. "This is the best I could do for a cold compress.."

"Thank you- oh!" I gasp, taken off guard by the icy chill that shoots along my spine as the bag of frozen peas are adjusted against my ribs. I shrink into the leather seat, contently; the ice numbing the pain. "That feels amazing."

I watch as my blue-eyed saviour sits down on the edge of his bed next to me, reaching out to grasp my left hand. Tracing circles on my aggressively sore fingertips, the aftermath of my relentless struggle against such a strong grip.

"I was so worried about you," he eventually admits, his voice cracking slightly. "I couldn't sleep. I was just pacing my bedroom hoping that you would call, text - _anything_ to let me know that you were ok."

"I didn't mean to worry you like that. And I'm also sorry for snapping at you when we found my mom.. when bad things happen, I short circuit and lash out at the people who don't deserve it. I wanted to keep you away from that part of my life."

There is a beat of thick silence before he works up the courage to ask, "Are you going to tell me who did this to you, or am I going to have to guess?"

"My mom's boyfriend," I admit, deciding to just be honest and open; I owe it to him after taking care of me. "He-he, er.. has a bit of a temper. Tonight he was just out of control."

"You have to live with that asshole? Are you serious?" Four asks, angrily, muscles tense and fists clenched, ready to break something.

"Not exactly.." I elude, weakly. Holding the peas to my ribs. "I have never seen him so angry. It's always been bad, but something just snapped inside of him-"

"Hold on," he says, slowly, cutting me off with a tight jaw. "You mean to tell me that this-this barbarity is a common occurrence? He beats you like this often? Why doesn't your mom do something?"

"You think she's in the right state of mind to stand up for me?" I snap, though the usual animosity of my voice has ebbed. "She's a cowardly alcoholic, who doesn't care about her own daughter. My mother would happily watch me bleed out on her expensive white carpet, so long as there is a bottle of liquor waiting for her on the other side."

"I had no idea," he whispers, sadly. "How did nobody notice? _Why_ didn't we notice? You have been all alone.."

"Nobody cared enough to hear my cries for help. They didn't want to look close enough to see my bruises. To them, I was acting out for attention. But it was desperation - I just wanted someone to understand what it's like to keep that kind of thing to yourself."

"Why didn't you tell somebody? Anyone at all. Tris, you shouldn't have to deal with this cruelty at all, but especially not on your own." He asks, gripping my hand tightly, eyes burning passionately into my own.

"I almost did," I answer, quietly. "The school counsellor asked me to tell her how things were at home. I opened my mouth, almost said something. _Almost_. The past year may have turned out differently if I had. But I didn't. I was too scared, scared that nobody would believe me."

"Well, I believe you," Four insists, fiercely, his tone softening as he continues. "And I promise that I am not going to let you get hurt again. It's over, ok? You've been so brave, but you aren't alone now. I'm here."

"I've locked it away for so long," I declare, my eyes brimming with tears. "I have been so alone - locked in closets, screaming as he dunked my head underwater to tease me with drowning, huddled against my door to keep him out. I-I don't want to be alone, anymore."

"I've got you. It's all going to be okay. He will never, _ever_ , harm you again. You have my word on that. It's over. You've been so brave."

His strong and secure arms wrap around me, a suit of armour to protect me from the evil that this world has thrown my way.

I begin to sob into his chest unceasingly, hands gripping at his shoulders as I let my mask slip. Four holds me in silence, rocking me slowly as tears drip down his bare chest. The emotional pain coming in waves.

"I am going to make you safe again, whatever it takes. I may not be able to fix what's left behind, but I _can_ be here for you. To listen and to just hold you, if that's what you need. I promise I will be here for you, I won't let you be alone again."

"I've heard a lot of promises," I respond, pulling away to watch him with tear-filled eyes. "And they all sound the same. But push hard enough, and they all prove to be empty. _Please_ don't make a promise that you can't keep.."

"I keep my word, I stand by everything that I say. And I am promising you that I'm going to protect you and support you, when you're not strong enough to do it for yourself. I _promise_."

I lean my head back against his chest, letting my eyes flutter closed as exhaustion washes over me. A long night of torture and emotional hurdles finally taking its toll on my energy. Feeling his heart beating against my cheek soothes all of the aches and painful twinges of my body, reminding me that I am alive.

The words of his solemn promise are like a live wire inside of my head, buzzing around like the crackling of electricity. I know that trusting him is a foolish move; not even the kindest of people can keep their promises. But I cannot take back what I have said and done - I have made my own bed, and now I must lie in it.

The trouble is, a promise - in my universe - doesn't mean a thing anymore.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 ***deep breath* ok, that was intense. This was a very emotional and challenging chapter to write, and I felt the need to pre-warn you of it's possible triggering content. I really hope that I captured Tris' pain sensitively and well, it was very upsetting to put such a good hearted character through such termoil.**

 **I also wanted to add that if you or someone that you know is being abused, you speak out and tell somebody to get help. Nobody deserves to go through such trauma alone, or at all. So if you know something, say something. I hope that the journey to leaving behind her demons that Tris will take could inspire anyone suffering to do the same thing. I am also always open to talking about the subject matter, my door is always open so to speak.**

 **Thank you for reading my longest chapter to date - 6,000+ words - and let me know what you thought by dropping a review!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 11 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

Our morning routine is robotic - unvarying and automatic, a sustained regime put into place by my severe mother. A routine not to be infringed or compromised under any circumstance.

An early morning start to be washed and dressed before breakfast at the kitchen table for 8am sharp: a strained and tedious affair, spearing pancakes with my fork and daydreaming, blocking out my mom's incessant badgering.

Each and every day is the same, a once casual convention endorsed by my father many years ago. Now that he is gone, the tradition has become binding - a way to conserve the influence he had on our lives.

I typically spend the uninteresting twenty minutes of breakfasting trapped in a fantasy world, losing myself to the stellar depths of my imagination. However, this morning my mind is occupied elsewhere; powerless to temporarily forget that while I am sitting at the breakfast table, a bruised and battered blonde is upstairs in my bedroom, tangled in the dark sheets.

"Tobias," my mother snaps, breaking me out of my uneasy trance. "Are you even listening? You look exhausted - have you been getting enough sleep? You _know_ how important-"

"I'm sleeping fine, don't worry. It's just.." I momentarily flounder for an excuse. ".. I have been worrying about the race coming up in a few days. I really want to win this one. That's all."

"What have I told you about stress, Tobias?"

"Stress leads to failure." I recite, lifelessly.

"Exactly," she confirms with the click of her tongue. "Winners do not torture themselves with something as trivial as pressure or anxiety. You have the nerves of steel it takes to become a champion - stress will achieve nothing."

I dredge up a fake smile with a practiced ease; I have mastered the art of putting on a brave face to please others, right down to the crinkles around my eyes. "Of course. I'll do better."

"That's my boy." she praises, victoriously as she refills my glass with freshly-squeezed cherry juice: a blessing when it comes to antioxidants and anti-inflammatory benefits.

She continues to fulminate the idea of stress levels and mental health - as if I don't watch her practically fall apart almost every day - sipping her cappuccino with care, chocolate curls bouncing in their perfectly positioned style. Paired with her mellowed, delicate pantsuit and shiny salmon stilettos, her entire appearance screams modulated and femininely suave.

My phone begins to vibrate from within the pocket of my dark skinny jeans, reverberating to life. I pull it out and glance at the caller ID, grinning at the name it reads.

"Oh for goodness sake," my mother cries, setting down her cup with a resounding thud, the watery coffee sloshing over the sides slightly. "This is our family breakfast. Who is that calling you? It had better not be a girl, Tobias, you know that they are strictly forbidden-"

"It's Zeke!" I exclaim, flashing her the screen. "I need to take this, I won't be long, ok? I'll tell him that I'm busy right now.."

I move out of the kitchen and into the hallway to take the call, shutting the door behind me to drown out her sour claims of my disrespect for family traditions. I roll my eyes through the wooden door before picking up.

"Zeke, why are you calling me so early?" I ask, exasperatedly. "Couldn't it have waited until after breakfast?"

"Oh shit, yeah, your daily meeting with Sargent Buzzkill. Sorry about that," he apologises, half heartedly. "But listen, my mom and dad are out of town for a few days and we are gonna' throw a pool party tonight. A select crowd of people - pretty exclusive - and nothing too wild. You in?"

"Nothing too wild, huh? That's very hard to believe. You couldn't even spell the word tame, let alone actively practice it."

"I swear it! Just something mild, a few friends and maybe Chinese takeout. I was thinking of inviting the guys we hung out with down by the river? They seemed pretty cool, right? We all got along like a house on fire." My eccentric best friend suggests.

I snort. "You think a girl like Christina would agree to a pool party? The danger of ruining her hair with the chlorine? Not a chance."

"Come on man, just say yes!" Zeke begs, and I find myself wavering. "I promise it won't get too out of hand, nothing like Peter's train wreck. And besides, it gives you the chance to spend a little more time with your blonde haired beauty-"

"Ok, ok," I relent, cutting him off with red cheeks, now once again hyper aware of her presence in my bedroom. "I'll be there. Under the conditions that I won't be drinking, nor will I be getting into that pool. Not after what happened at your party last month with Lauren Walker..."

"I had never had sex in a pool before, I was being adventurous!" He protests through laughter and I shudder at the memory of catching them at it like a pair of rabbits.

"As well as being completely out of it drunk," I remind him. "I am never getting in your pool again after _that_ escapade."

"Whatever, dude. I'll spread the word. And you make sure your girl shows up. I don't want to have to deal with you moping because she didn't turn up.."

"She _isn't_ my girl," I respond in a hushed whisper, my palms sweaty. "And I don't _mope_. I'll see you later, alright? I have got to get back to the breakfast table before my mom loses her mind."

"So long, Romeo." Zeke chuckles, and I hang up with a huff, aggravated by his stupid jokes. Maybe it roots from the idea that they could hold just a little bit of the truth.

I reenter the bright and pristine kitchen, tucking my cellphone back into the confinement of my back pocket, unable to meet the heated gaze of my mother as I slide back into my seat.

"I don't like that hellion," she tells me, brashly, drumming her fingernails against the polished tabletop. "He is a troublemaker, destined to lead you astray. Do you know what having a bad circle of friends can lead to? Drugs. Alcohol abuse. Criminal activity. He is a bad influence!"

"Zeke is a good guy, mom. He's a good friend to me, he always has been - sure, he isn't the most wholesome boy in this town, but he's got a kind heart." I tell her, defensively, standing up for the guy that has stood by me through thick and thin. More of a brother than a friend.

"I don't want him anywhere near this house, do you hear me? Especially while I am out of town." Mom demands, cutting her eyes across at me with a glare over her coffee cup.

"Out of town?" I ask, puzzled. "You're leaving? Where are you going?"

"On a business trip for three days to meet with some clients. I trust you have managed to preserve the emergency cash in your sock drawer? You can use that for whatever expenses you may need to cover. And I hope that I make myself clear when I tell you that I want _nobody_ in this house while I am gone. No parties. No visitors under any circumstances."

I groan, rolling my eyes. "Mom, I'm not a kid. I'm nearly eighteen - you can trust me to stay alone for three days without trashing the house and throwing a wild party."

"I will be leaving shortly," she informs me, disregarding my comment all together. "And I expect you to keep up with the training program in my absence. No slacking. I will be back for the day of your race, but until then you are responsible for making sure you are at your best for the competition."

I shovel the last piece of blueberry pancake into my mouth, speaking through it instinctively. "You can count on me. I won't let you down. Like I said, I'm not a kid."

"Do not speak with your mouth full, Tobias," she sighs, imperiously. "Manners don't cost a thing. And I want you to understand this - _no girls._ They are distractions to your success. You need to be focusing on your career and competitions. Winning comes first. So no girls, no parties, no visitors. No troublemaking. Agreed?"

"Agreed," I chorus, plastering another faux smile onto my face. Suppressing the desire to rebel against her instructions, to live as a normal teenager guy for three glorious days.

"Run along," Mom adds, beginning to gather up the empty plates. "I want you to spend an hour reading up on college applications, then out with the field training. There is no room to idle and avoid your responsibilities."

"Right; you are only as good as what you put in. I have no time to give fifty percent.. it's all or nothing."

"Drink this while you study up on track scholarships," she tells me, handing over a tall glass. "It's ginger lemonade - it will keep you at your health peak for the race. I'm so proud of you, honey. Your self discipline is at its very best.. I need you to be confident. I need you to focus on winning, and winning alone."

"I'm focused, really I am. I have worked too hard to start slacking off, and I will put every ounce of effort into winning.. I won't let you down." I assure her, taking the glass, not meaning a word of what leaves my mouth.

With a swift and mechanical kiss to my cheek, she releases me from the breakfast charade. Wings of freedom bursting out of my shoulder blades.

I make my way up the narrow staircase, taking an experimental sip from the glass she offered, cringing as it slides down my throat; I never have been a fan of ginger concoctions.

I push open the door to my bedroom, locking it securely behind me. Setting the lemonade down on my bedside table, I turn toward the slender body twined with my blankets, surprised to see a pair of alert, slate-grey eyes staring up at me and taking in my dressed appearance.

"Good morning." She croaks, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back like a kitten, instantly regretting it as she grimaces in pain.

Reacting urgently, I dig into the first aid pack that is discarded on my desk and pull out a packet of strong painkillers, popping two out into my open palm. Fumbling with the pack to work as fast as I can.

"Take these," I tell her, softly, offering them to her along with the closest thing to wash them down - ginger lemonade. "They will make you feel better. Two should probably do the trick."

"It feels like I've been hit head on by a truck," Tris groans, accepting the medication and taking them without hesitation, her nose wrinkling as she tastes the lemonade. "What is _that_? Are you trying to poison me, wonder boy?"

"It is the beverage of champions. Ginger lemonade.. it's supposed to prevent inflammation and stimulate the digestive system. A complete health fix."

"Sucks to be you." She snorts, placing the glass back onto the table. Forcing herself to sit up, leaning back against the headboard. The borrowed sweatshirt hangs beneath her fingertips, consuming the bruised blonde in fabric.

I reach my own hand out to brush my fingers against her bruised eye, not quite swollen shut, but nasty enough to be more than noticeable. Her skin is unusually pale and sickly, and is scalding to touch.

"It's bad, huh?" She whispers, surveying my physical reaction to her injury. Breath tickling my fingers.

"Yeah," I admit, deciding to be honest. "He really did a number on you. But the good news is that it could be a lot worse; the swelling isn't too significant, so the worst we're looking at is a pretty bad bruise."

"It's damn convenient that it's summertime - I'm going to be parading around in a pair of very large sunglasses for a solid week or two."

"How did you hide it for so long? The physical signs, I mean. I never saw even a scratch when I noticed you around the halls or peered into the newspapers dark office." I ask, genuinely curious to discover how somebody could conceal such a dark secret without being found out.

"Long sleeves, makeup for the minor injuries, thick sweaters and long pants. I let my hair down to disguise the marks on my neck. But if my face was too bad, I would just skip school and hide away in the woods or on the beach." Tris divulges, her flat tone void of any emotion.

"We let you down," I conclude, lowering my eyes in shame. "Your mom, the school, this whole damn town. We couldn't see what was right in front of us, I didn't see. Or maybe I just didn't want to - I saw the sadness in your eyes but had no idea what to do about it. So I did nothing... _I_ let you down."

"How were you to know? In any case it wasn't any of your business - I was just a problem student with a stormy scowl, the weird girl. You had no loyalties to me, you didn't know me. The only person that is let down is _me_ ; I don't have the courage to tell anybody, I am disappointed in myself more than anything."

"It's over now," I assure her, moving my hand to cup her jaw, tenderly. "You can begin to heal. You never have to go back to that house. He can't hurt you, anymore. That's the part of your life that you can leave behind."

"Sometimes it feels like I will never be able to escape him, like he's there wherever I go - in my head, in my nightmares. It's impossible to heal when I can't seem to get away from the memories. No matter how far I run away, or tell myself that none of it matters and that I don't care, he never leaves me."

"You can get help," I suggest, gently. "Professional help - counselling and stuff. They can help you to leave him behind. There is always a way, this suffering can't and won't last forever."

"I don't need help. I don't need a prissy counsellor to tell me that I'm fucked up - I already know that. Lying on a couch and spilling my darkest secrets is not going to help me recover.. I can do this on my own." She insists, eyes burning with the sheer ferocity of determination.

"This is all on your own terms, Tris. I am not going to make you do anything that you don't want to. It's up to you. But I will be here to support you. Whatever it takes. Anything you need."

"Right now what I need is for you to just hold me..." she tells me with a choked sob, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. "...please, can you do that?"

"C'mere." I coax, softly, sitting up against the headboard as she cautiously curls into my side - wary of her ribs - fitting into me like a piece to a puzzle. As if it is exactly how it was destined to be.

Her arm curls around my middle as she tucks her head into my chest, honey blonde tresses splayed out across my shirt clad chest. I wind my own arm around to rest on her lower back, my spare hand running through her soft locks. Tris smells like sunny afternoons and jasmine, soothing my soul with the delectable aroma that is also now infused into my bedsheets.

I take a satisfying moment to admire her relaxed features, pressed into my side with serenity. She is painted in the most fluorescent colours, the pallet that God used to create her would make Picasso weep. Her rare smiles cause rays of colour from one end of the spectrum to the other go running in all directions, looking for an untouched canvas to mark. In which case, I am lucky enough to symbolise that blank canvas.

"I thought he was going to kill me once," Tris admits, shakily. "He was choking me and everything just went black. He left me on the bathroom floor for dead, so imagine his disappointment when I came to the next day with black and blue fingerprints marking my neck. That was on Christmas Day."

"You don't have to tell me any of this," I whisper, dropping a kiss to the crown of my head. "I don't want you to upset yourself more than you already are..."

"I want to tell you. I want it all out in the open," she stutters, biting down on her lip to compose herself. "The beatings were awful, every bruise and scar chipping away at me.. b-but the other stuff was so much w-worse."

"The other stuff?" I ask, slowly, pausing the running of my fingers through the waterfall of blonde falling from her scalp.

"He would take me upstairs.. to his b-bedroom," she murmurs, throat constricted with emotion. "I would fight and fight the entire time but he is so much stronger than I am. He violated me in the worst way possible.."

"Tris." I gasp, a fire igniting in my blood. My hands tremble and tears pool in my eyes, my grip instinctively tightening around the shuddering girl.

"He told me that I was asking for it, that I made him think that I wanted it. Like it was my duty to let him.. he told me that nobody would believe me, that I was worthless, and that's all I was good for-"

The words that she attempts to utter are overcome by sobs. Paralysing cries that shatter my heart, stifled as she turns her face into my chest, shaking fingers gripping onto my shirt.

Tris cries like there is too much raw pain inside to contain, desperate to release an elemental rage on the world. The soothing words I repeat like a mantra fall upon deaf ears; she is past the point of consolation.

A tear slips down my own cheek as I hold her close, stroking her hair and remaining silent, letting her get out all of the hurt and humiliation. I am caught between red hot fury and agonising sadness, ultimately horrified by what kind of devil she has been living with. How can one girl go through so much torture and still stumble out of the blazing fire with her head held high?

This special, spirited, beautiful girl.

"Hey," I remark as her wails decline into whimpers, getting her attention. "Hey, listen to me. That is not on you. It is not your fault, do you hear me?"

"How do you know?" She whispers in a cracked whisper, not lifting her head to look at me.

Curling my fingers around her chin I tilt her face to angle toward mine, my watery eyes gazing fiercely into her own. "It is _not_ on you. You did nothing wrong."

"How do you know?" She exclaims, raising her voice as a round of silent tears begin streaming down her face. A tsunami of hidden dark secrets, cruel words and inappropriate touches.

"I promise you it isn't your fault. It was never your fault. _He_ assaulted _you_. You are not worthless and.. _that_ cannot define who you are and what you can be," I assure her, promisingly. "Don't ever feel guilty for surviving. It wasn't your fault."

As she buries her head back into my chest, shoulders shaking with her wails, I register the guilt that sits not in my brain, but in my chest. It is like gasoline in my guts. My insides slowly dying from the toxicity.

While I was in what seemed like a treacherous civil war between track and writing, Tris was living a literal nightmare. And I didn't look up long enough from my own life to notice.

Tris' story and experience has taught me that survival is so much more than the persistence of flesh and the human body. She fought with her soul. God may have graced her with beauty, but he was cruel when he created her heart; he gave her a good heart, but teased her with evil to push her to the limit. To test her boundaries.

Hate and enmity wells up inside of my own heart, fury cutting me apart. It burns so deeply that it is ingrained into the tissue. Every part of my being wants that asshole dead; he crossed the line when he hurt my girl, and it is something that I will never forget.

It takes me a moment to process that I internally think of her as my girl. The animosity and protectiveness that I am upholstering enhances my enamour with her; I want to protect her and keep her safe. She is my girl. And I am, in every way, hers.

Breaking my furious stupor, she suddenly sits upright and wipes at her cheeks with determination. Her eyebrows furrowed deeply. The broken glint in her eyes has melted away, replaced by their usual hardness, warning off any potential predators: a survival technique.

"Ok," Tris says quietly, taking a deep breath and mentally glueing herself back together. "Come on, I want to show you something. That stupid sob story only tells you part of who I am - but for you to truly see me for what and who I am, you need to see my safe place."

"Tris," I utter, perplexed by her sudden switch as I watch her slip out of the sheets and stand, wincing. "You can't just get up like-like nothing you just told me mattered. You're hurting and you're injured, you need to stay-"

"No. _We_ need to leave," she tells me, firmly, stepping forward to cup the back of my neck with her hand. "I can't.. I can't just stay in this bed all day, falling apart and wallowing In something that I can't change. If I have any chance of feeling even the tiniest bit better, I need to take you home with me."

I spring to my feet, fists clenched and jaw tight. The anger coming in waves. "You are not going back to that fucking house of horrors, are you insane? Over my dead body."

"That isn't my home, that's a prison," Tris reiterates, searching around for her pants and pulling them up. Deciding to stay in my sweater rather than change into a blood-stained shirt. "I want to take you to my _real_ home. The place that I go to escape. _My_ place."

"If that's what it will take to make you feel safe.." I concede, slowly, still unsure of her intentions. Not even knowing where this home is supposedly located.

"You've already done so much for me, and I couldn't be any more grateful," she admits, stepping toward me to hang onto the hem of my shirt, pleadingly. "I just need you to let me go home, and then it will all be ok. I want- no, I _need_ to do this. With or without your help."

"I'm with you. If this is something that is going to help - even just a little - then I support it. But I'm coming with you.. I need to know that this is going to be a safe place for you to be."

Before we make it out of the front door, I make sure to give her a drink of water and a pair of my dark sunshades to hide her black eye away from prying tourists and locals we may encounter. After the reassurance that she feels okay physically, she manages to force me out of the door and into the sunshine.

Tris hangs onto my hand as we walk, curling her spare fingers around my forearm, seeking the comfort of my touch. I feel the same way, rubbing my thumb along the smooth skin of her hand, relishing in her warmth.

As much as I try to distract myself and expel the idea out of my head, Tris' cruel endeavours haunt my mind. The constant suffering and all-round pain she must feel on a daily basis makes my blood boil; life is just so unfair in that way, punishing people who don't deserve it.

She must feel so alone in the world, with nobody to look out for her and care for her. Tris is strong and independent, and is clearly more than capable of making it on her own and relying on herself for everything, but even the bravest of people need somebody. And I am determined to be that person for her.

My family is definitely ripped at the seams, but we are not broken, just bent out of shape. They may not be the best parents, but I know that I am loved. That I matter to them. Tris has no family at all; her dad passed away, her mother cares more for alcohol than her own daughter and the demon that rules their household is a vicious, loveless creature who's only purpose in life is to be damned to hell.

Eventually we reach the edge of the wood, a labyrinth of glinting green and benevolent brown. The sunlight streams through the branches above our heads, casting odd angles of light in our path.

Birds sing old songs in the trees and the leaves dance to the harmony, pirouetting in the breeze. Swirling in the fresh air.

Tris squeezes my hand, looking up at me with a watered-down smile. "Are you ready?"

"Lead the way."

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys, this chapter was really emotional to write; being that Tris finally reveals the true depths of scarring abuse that Max resorted to. It is truly heartbreaking that so many people are sexually abused and assaulted, and that it is avoided like a horrible disease. It should be talked about, we need to raise awareness for the horrors and disturbances it can cause an individual.**

 **The response on the last chapter was insane, I appreciate every single review you guys post and I read every single one. I also got the chance to reply and correspond with some readers. My private messages are open to all!**

 **Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought to this chapter :)**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	12. Chapter 12

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 12 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

Amazement doesn't quite cover what I am feeling right now; it is like someone just took my spark of wonder and doused it in gasoline. The smile that outwardly reveals my awe cannot truly reflect my emotions. Every neurone of my brain is trying to fire in every direct all at once - the best kind of paralysis.

I run my fingers along the smooth paper that covers almost an entire wooden wall, tracing the edges and vertices of the large map, closely admiring the annotations and scribbles in red marker.

The small treehouse is a remarkable sanctuary, beautifully isolated from the rest of the world. Like a small corner of the universe set aside for a damaged girl, a place for her to be herself.

Strings of fairy lights are sloppily adjusted around the four-walled refuge and piles of books and old newspapers are stacked up in every corner. A sea of tattered novels and article clippings, spilling over the dark panelled floor.

There is a misshapen beanbag in the far alcove and a blowup mattress, covered in an array of mismatched pillows and blankets. Atop of her spread of comforters is my denim jacket, warming my heart to imagine that she keeps it so close.

I understand why she brought me here in order to begin to unravel her personality, to find out who she really is - this place is full of Tris, from the books she reads to the places she wants to visit. Hopes and dreams squashed into one rustic palace deep in the woods, away from anything that tries to hurt her.

Placed accordingly onto the only shelf - wonky and impractical - is a small wooden music box. I move toward it, wanting to get a closer look. Golden spirals have been carefully painted onto the dark timber, daubed by a steady hand.

"It was my dads'" Tris tells me, wringing her hands together, anxiously. "He made it for me when I was really young.. it's the only thing I have left of him now. Mom threw away all of his stuff after the funeral, claimed it was too painful. But I managed to keep this."

"It's beautiful. He must have been very talented - this looks as if it took him a long time." I respond kindly, replacing it back onto the shelf.

"He was," she confirms with a small reminiscent smile. "Our house was filled with all of his creations - intricate bird feeders for the backyard, coffee tables and vases. He even made me a dollhouse out of scraps of wood and some paint. Not to mention this place."

"Your dad built this?" I ask, wandering over to the map once again, surveying every detail she has added in pretty handwriting.

"The summer before he died," Tris confirms, sadly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her pants. "We would pack enough food to last us from dawn to dusk and work on it together. Well, he built it and I watched, occasionally passing him the tools. Now I have converted it into my own living space."

"How long have you been staying here exactly?"

"I don't know.. a couple of months, I think. It's not much but it's safer than being in that house. I have food and clothes, and I usually take a shower at the beachside changing facilities. I like it here - it's _home_."

Home. It is supposed to be a safe haven, a place where you can be yourself and have assured safety. Home means something different to everybody, it is mouldable to fit the definition of an individual.

My home is safe, clean and sophisticated. A well-stocked refrigerator, running water and accessible electricity, a warm bed to sleep in at night; clean sheets and soft carpet; silverware and crockery; pristine surfaces and shiny faucets.

Tris' perception of home is isolated and impractical but loveable all the same. Surrounded by trees and woodland, a force of nature itself; tiny and unequipped for constant human habitation; full of life and creativity, bursting at the seams with personality and colour.

Two very different interpretations, but home all the same.

"I can see your infatuation," I agree, turning my full attention back to the bruised blonde. "It's great.. like your own piece of the world. Seriously - I love it. My dad was more of a buy-it-online kind of guy. We never really did anything like this together."

"You don't seem to talk about him much," she points out, nonchalantly. "Were you guys close at all? Y'know, before he.. went away."

"Went to jail you mean," I correct her and watch as she flushes pink, my voice softening as I add, "you can say it. It's not a dirty word. And to answer your question, yes we were pretty close. He came to every race I ran, he was my biggest supporter. We would sit and watch the game together, make burger-runs and go to the movies."

"You miss him, huh?" Tris tells me, gently, moving to sit cross-legged atop of her makeshift bed, grabbing my jacket and draping it over her legs for comfort.

"More than anything," I admit, unsure if it is ok to declare it out loud. "He's still my dad. I'm not sure that I could ever love him the way I did before, but he's family - I will always care about him. But a small part of me is still furious with him, and I am glad that he is rotting away in jail, serving time for the unspeakable things he did."

"Have you visited him yet? I mean, would you consider it if you haven't already?"

"I don't know," I sigh, flopping down onto the beanbag and pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm not so sure that he deserves any visitation rights at all. But maybe.. I guess confronting him would give me the closure I need to accept what he did."

"There's no rush to forgive him. It's all on your own terms.. you have to be selfish. You need to do what's best for _you_. Not anybody else."

"Do you think you could ever forgive your mom?" I dare to inquire, apprehensive of her response.

"I've never really thought about it," Tris shrugs, looking down at her hands. "I guess I've always blamed myself for her drinking and going off completely off the rails, I couldn't help her. I couldn't take the pain away. So I suppose that the person I would really need to forgive is myself."

"You can't punish yourself for something out of your control. It was your mom's responsibility to look after you, not the other way around. You can't keep holding grudges against yourself, it isn't going to help you to heal." I agree, quietly, watching her intently.

"I really miss having a family," she discloses solemnly. "Trips to the beach, picnics in the backyard, birthday parties and treat milkshakes at _the old bean_. I can take care of myself but sometimes I just wish that I could turn back the clock."

"You can't change the past. I think it would hurt more to go back and watch it all fall apart again. We have to live in the present; that's the thing that we can change for the better."

"I guess it's why I love this place," Tris notes, glancing around fondly, the ghost of a smile on her enticing lips. "When I am out here I feel really connected to my dad, y'know? Like he's sat right next to me.. like he never even left. Out here.. I don't feel so alone."

"You aren't alone," I remind her, getting to my feet and crossing the room to crouch before her, my hand coming up to cradle her smooth cheek. "You have us now - me, Christina, Marlene and the others. We all care about you. You never have to feel alone again. After all, I'm only one call away."

"Could you lay down with me?" She asks in a timid whisper, seemingly bracing herself for an answer that she doesn't want.

"Of course." I whisper, brushing my lips against her cheeks before releasing her from my grip.

I climb over to the side of the uncomfortable mattress closest to the wall, swallowing hard as Tris lies down with her back to me. In a drive of courage and confidence, I slowly wrap my arm around her waist - cautious of her ribs - and pull her toward me. Revelling in the short gasp I hear as our bodies connect, my broad chest flush against her back.

The emotional exhaustion from last nights events and the early morning start for a torturous breakfast with my mother begins to take its toll on me; lying here with a beautiful girl wrapped in my arms, I can feel myself beginning to fall asleep.

"Tris, what you were saying about having no family.." I murmur, wanting to get this off my chest before allowing myself to concede to a pleading slumber. ".. you were wrong. I can be your family now."

"Can I ask you something?" She inquires after a moment, turning in my arms to look deeply into my eyes, the stormy glaze unsettling me.

"Anything." I respond, sleepily, leaning in to nuzzle my nose against the sharp cut of her jaw, inhaling my newest addiction of her naturally sweet scent.

"Is your name really Four?" Tris eventually asks, almost hesitantly. Her breath warm against my ear, her fingers tracing patterns over my back.

"No," I admit, burying my face into the crook of her neck. Feeling an incessant urge to confide in her, to tell her my _real_ name. "It's.. Tobias. You-you can call me that when we're alone, if you'd like. It seems too weird for you to call me Four, you know me too well."

"Tobias," she repeats, rolling my name from her tongue in a soft drawl, one that is music to my ears. A symphony that only I can hear. "I like that; it really suits you."

I lift my head from her throat, bracing my arm against the pillow so my face hovers above hers. Our lips a mere inch apart. My eyes bat down to the pink and plump surface of her adorable pouty lips, eager to taste her on my mouth again.

"Are you going to kiss me, _Tobias_?"

Instead of supplying her with a quick teasing retort, I dip my head and brush our lips together, no more than a feather-like pressure. Teasing her by pulling back as she attempts to deepen the kiss, running a hand along my back to grip the back of my neck.

"You aren't playing fair." She grumbles, frustratedly, lightly tugging on my hair to connect our mouths. This time, I give in to the passionate collision. Ironically, I am no longer on the cusp of sleep.

Our kisses up until this point have been sweet and innocent, gentle and soft, but as our lips melt against one another, there is an unfamiliar but erotic urgency to our kisses. As if every touch is our last. I cannot seem to get enough of her exquisite taste, and as our tongues begin to dance to their own beat, the small whimper she makes sets my blood on fire.

With a confidence that I didn't expect her to possess, Tris pushes a hand to my chest and I follow her directions, propping myself up against the wall. Reconnecting our mouths in a heated display of passion, I tuck a hand under her thigh and lift her to straddle my lap, firmly massaging my tongue against her own, dominating the kiss entirely. The taste of her lips inflict sensations I had never even known I was capable of feeling.

Pulling away, I cup her jaw with my hand and begin to pepper kisses along the smooth column of her neck. A wave of pleasure runs through my entire body as she lets out another whimper into my ear, clinging onto my sweatshirt with desperate fingers. Her scent is certainly intoxicating.

In the past twelve hours, we have stripped ourselves of any barriers between us: I have revealed my true name and expressed the inward feelings toward my imprisoned father, and Tris has dared to show me her scars and bruises, bravely telling me the truth of her abuse.

Any hesitation or uncertainty I harboured toward our odd dynamic has dissipated; connected through hardships and false faces, a flame has been ignited. One that will not be distinguished so easily.

"Don't stop," she whispers into my ear as I flick my tongue against her earlobe. "Fuck, Tobias."

I slow my ministrations, suddenly hyper aware of our compromising and intimate positions. I don't want to rush her into something she may not be emotionally ready for. Being sexually abused is not something to be brushed off lightly without the repercussions. I don't want to scare her away by going too far too fast.

"Tris, is this okay? I mean, you would tell me if you felt uncomfortable.. I don't want you to be scared."

"I trust you," she replies, running her fingertips along my chiselled jaw and down to my collarbones, tugging at the neckline of my sweater. "And I would like for you to take this off, if you want to. I don't want to take it too far, but I don't want to stop either."

Noticing my reluctance even still, she inhales a shaky breath and pulls her shirt over her head, flinging it aside. I brush my hands along her sides carefully, caressing the turquoise lace that covers her chest.

I gulp, batting my eyes upward to meet her heated charcoal orbs, sizzling with passion and lust. Entrapped by this gaze, I subconsciously remove my own sweater, throwing it away from us.

With our chests flush together - carefully, in mind of her sore and bruised ribs - our lips rejoin into another tempest of desire and craving. My hands skim up and down the supple skin of her back, holding her petite frame close to me as our lips mesh, succumbed to a world of new and exciting yearnings.

As our kisses draw to a close, after a good ten minutes of passionate making out, I stroke my fingers along her collarbones, drawing a pathway to her heart. Our breaths mingle as we gasp for air, shoulders heaving and hands trembling. I lean back into a lumpy throw pillow as she slides off my lap and curls into my side, panting.

"Who knew kissing could feel that amazing." I breathe out in disbelief, struggling to control my excitement. Squeezing my eyes shut tight and imagining horrible images to save myself from the embarrassment - dead kittens, butchered puppies and blood splattered walls.

" _You're_ amazing," she adds, fingers splaying out across my abdomen. "I was so comfortable with you, so trusting, that _he_ didn't come up in my head at all. I assumed it would be all that I could think about, but I was so caught up in you."

"I'm so glad," I chuckle, honestly. "That asshole can't hold you back from new and pleasurable experiences. And maybe not right away.. but I'm going to make sure that whenever you are to think of kisses and intimate touching, you are going to think of _me_. Not him. You deserve to be happy."

"And what if I'm not ready?" Tris asks quietly, but there is a softness to her tone that tells me everything I need to know: she really does trust me.

"I would never expect you to be so early, not just because of what you've been through but.. it's a big step, y'know? And I don't think that _I'm_ ready just yet. We are discovering this together remember? There's no rush. Whenever we are ready and the time is right."

"You need some sleep," she eventually adds after pressing a small and appreciative peck to my bicep, sitting up slowly and reaching for a hardback novel at the side of the mattress. "I'll read to you."

I peer at the cover, raising my eyebrows in surprise. "A poetry book?"

"It was the last present my mom ever bought for me," she answers, quickly, propping herself up and clasping the book in her two small hands. "Now come on, lie down. You look fucking exhausted; I know you barely slept last night, and then woke up extra early to go downstairs."

"Ok, ok," I concede, edging closer to my girl and dipping my face into her neck, lying comfortably on my side beside her. Sighing in delight as one of her arms wraps around my bare back; we both seem to need the closeness today. "Just a quick nap. One hour max."

"Dive for dreams - E.E Cummings," Tris begins to read, her voice soul soothing, relaxing all nerves and muscles in my warm body. "Dive for dreams, or a slogan may topple you. Trees are their roots and wind is wind. Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, and live by love through the stars walk backward..."

My consciousness begins to ebb with the beautiful harmony of her voice, my mind going into free fall. My nose pressed against her soft skin, buried into the safety of her neck to block out the sunlight streaming into the treehouse.

As my thoughts begin to morph into utter nonsense, the words of Tris' soothing poem becoming jumbled up in my head, I know that I am finally falling asleep. Now all I have to do is let go and give into the swirling chaos of beautiful dreams.

Not a second later, the insistent buzzing of my cellphone stashed away in the pocket of my pants disturbs me. Vibrating against my butt. Grumbling to myself, I pull my face out from Tris' shoulder and fumble for my cellphone, dimly noticing that the bright midday light has faded into golden hues of late afternoon.

I frown, it felt like I was only sleeping for a minute or two. Tris herself is curled up in the sheet, her poetry book discarded at her feet and a laptop now positioned at her will. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, lips pursed as she contemplates words and phrases.

I pull out my cellphone and pick up the call, not even bothering to survey the caller ID as I greet with the growl, "What do you want?"

"Nice to hear your voice too, sweetheart," a familiar goading drawl teases from the other end of the line and I groan. "Someone's a little grumpy this afternoon."

"Zeke, seriously what do you want?" I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. "I'm kind of busy right now. It's really not a great time.."

"I just wanted to check that we are still on for tonight - remember, the pool party? You agreed to show your face, and I am holding you to your word."

"I don't know if I'm in much of a party mood right now," I yawn, running a hand through my hair to tame it. "Maybe I'll swing by for a little while later on."

"Come on, man. You can't be a sad recluse for the entire summer. You're never in the party mood. Just cut loose for once, have some fun. I promise it's nothing out of hand; just some pizzas and music, hanging out by the pool." My best friend pleads, convincingly. His biggest mission in life seems to be attempting to draw me out of my boring shell.

"Listen, I'll think about it and let you know. Today just may not be the best of days, ok? But I'll see what I can do. Deal?"

"Deal," he agrees, reluctantly. "But I swear if you back out of this party I will personally crack one of your nuts. Left or right, it's your choice. But do not underestimate me, brother."

"You should include that on your college application - professional ball-cracker," I retort, dryly. "I'm hanging up now. I'll catch you later."

"You should go," Tris speaks up as I hang up the call, not looking up from her furious typing. "To the party, I mean. I assume that's what he was attempting to rope you into. You deserve a night off, the change to just cut loose and have a bit of fun."

"I told you I'd sleep for an hour. You were supposed to wake me.. three hours ago!" I tell her, ignoring her advice and stuffing my phone back into the back pocket of my pants.

"We both know that you needed it. Besides, I got a lot of work done while you were out cold - my article for Mrs Myers is officially complete, I'll be publishing it onto her website promptly tomorrow morning. The research we did in the library the other week totally helped give the story an edge. Hopefully it draws in a few more tourists to the bakery."

"That's great," I praise, brushing away strands of hair from her face that have fallen from her messy ponytail. "And about the party.."

"You want me to tag along." She states, continuing to fiddle with the keys of her laptop as I brush my lips against her jawline.

"Only if you feel up to it. I understand that you might need some down-time tonight after everything that happened, and I am totally cool with giving you space if that's what you need."

"I don't need space, I'm okay. I know you think that it is going to take me weeks to recover from what happened last night but I have learnt to just move on quickly. Besides, I fought back. He didn't touch me in the way that he wanted to because I finally stood up for myself. I'm _okay_. And I think we should go to the party. I kind of need to make up an excuse to Christina and Zeke about what they saw with my mom outside of the cafe."

"I understand," I nod with a small smile. "We don't have to head out for a while yet. Maybe you could read me some more poems."

Before I can register her movements, she has snapped her laptop shut and pushed it to the edge of the air mattress, getting up herself to delve inside of an iron trunk. I watch on in bewilderment as she rummages through the contents before swiftly pulling out two candy bars and a bag of chips.

"Voila," she declares, dramatically, throwing them in my direction before situating herself back at my side, grabbing the poetry book. "Which poem would you like me to read?"

"Hmm," I debate, flinging one arm around her narrow shoulders and unwrapping a candy bar with my spare hand. "How about your favourite one."

Without having to mull over her decision, the angelic blonde flips to the last page of the hard-backed collection. Running her fingers along the spine fondly, smiling down at the special words that adorn the page.

"The Red Wheelbarrow, William Carlos Williams," Tris reads earnestly, a leg flung over mine and her small body leans against mine completely. "So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow, glazed with rain water. Beside the white chickens."

"Wait-what, thats the entire poem? That's barely three lines!" I gape, taking a bite of the chewy candy bar with vigour, enchanting a giggle from her mouth. "That's an outrage!"

"I think it's beautiful," she sighs, wistfully, clutching the book to her chest. "Figuratively speaking, so much depends on each line of the poem, and the man who wrote them. So much depends on the art of literature."

I can't help but grin like a lovesick fool at the way she talks; there is a spark in her eye when she tells me about the poem, the same glint that is there as she writes. The passions she has are visible in the way she behaves, the way she speaks.

I may not understand her adoration for this particular poem, but if hearing a poem that I have no attachment to over and over again puts that gleam in her eye even just for another moment, I am more than willing to listen and to learn.

"Read it to me again." I request, tugging on her ponytail playfully and shovelling the rest of the candy bar into my awaiting mouth.

"So much depends on a red wheelbarrow..."

I close my eyes contently as she rereads her favourite poem to me, once, twice, three times. Basking in the late afternoon sunshine that floods into the poky treehouse, lighting up the special shelter.

Happiness runs through my veins, flowing through me like an electric current. Lulled into complete serenity by the repeated words, spoken in the softest of tones, light and adoring.

Tris could be labelled by many as a 'diamond in the rough', but to me, she is just a diamond. Dazzling and impressive. She simply shines. The world can be as rough as it desires, but it cannot bend her out of shape.

It cannot break her. I guess that's part of the reason why I find myself falling head over heels for her; that sparkle, the one that can never be taken away from her.

I cannot keep her out of my mind - the way her nimble fingers caress my own so gently, or how I buzz with energy from head to toe whenever our eyes meet. Her beauty is just incredible, inwardly and outwardly. A girl of true substance. Light and dark; fire and rain; Venus and Mars.

My heart is falling for her by the second.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey Guys! This was a much lighter chapter in comparison to the previous two chapters and I had so much fun writing the FourTris fluff! Those two really are meant to be together, a written in the stars kind of love.**

 **This is also a shorter chapter but I wanted to get it up so I could begin to work on the next. I am planning for that to be a little longer so with finals and all, it may not be uploaded until the weekend.**

 **Let me know what you thought to the fluff, and also let me know if you would ever want to see any lemons/smutty scenes later on in the story. However I will not change the rating, only prewarn my readers in advance to reading.**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 13 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

"Careful," I warn Uriah, watching him stuff a bread roll into his mouth, practically choking on the crumbs. "Death by bread isn't exactly a dignified way to go."

"At least I'll die doing what I love." He retorts, scooping up another three rolls with a plucky grin. I can't help but shake my head with a fond smile, clandestinely amused by his childish antics.

Scooping up my solo cup of soda - shamelessly boycotting the alcohol - I wander out into the evening light, Four's sunshades pulled low over my eyes to conceal my bruised eye.

In the backyard, everybody lounges around the pool with palpable causality. As if this mismatch group of teenagers have been in the same position a hundred times before. And oddly enough, it sure feels that way.

Christina is stretched out on a sun lounger, dressed in a rather provocative fiery red swimsuit despite her disgust at the idea of actually getting into the turquoise pool. Shauna is at her feet on the grass, flipping through a magazine and basking in the sunshine. Their feud over presidential morals and values must have drawn to a close as they are giggling like best friends once more.

Marlene is splashing around in the water with Zeke, attempting to persuade Will to join them, who sits at the edge reading a hardback novel, seemingly uninterested in getting his hair wet.

Four sits beside him, feet dangling into the water with his denim pants rolled up to his knees. Blue eyes glinting. I take a sneaky second to admire his muscular arms as he leans back on his palms, watching the splashing contest with an entertained smirk.

Relevant chart toppers flood out of the sound system founded from a playlist entitled 'sounds of summer'. The troublesome Pedrad twins have even gone to the effort of sloppily stringing up some paper lanterns, coloured every shade of the rainbow. And keeping to their word, it is a private and casual affair.

"So, what d'you say, Tris?" Uriah asks, catching me off guard and slinging an arm around my shoulders, almost knocking my sunshades askew. "Want to take a dip?"

"Definitely not. I have been informed of the dirty deeds that have taken place in that pool of bacteria. Over my dead body will I be swimming in there." I retort, shrugging away his arm, uncomfortable with the physical contact. I'm not sure I'll ever get over that fear, not unless the person in contact has familiar eyes and understanding hands.

"Four! Bro code, dude," Zeke groans, overhearing my excuse and casting a glare to his best friend. "How many times? I was drunk and unable to control myself. Are you ever going to let it go?"

"Oh, stop whining like a bitch, Ezekiel," Christina chimes in, sitting up and raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "The whole school already knows about your pool fiasco with Lauren Walker, the school slapper. It was all anybody could talk about for the whole hour that it was remotely relevant."

"She has a point. The AV club heard about it too and we had a very humorous conversation comparing Lauren to a broken and overused motherboard." Will agrees, not bothering to glance up from the pages of his latest read - something by Charles Dickens.

"Why would you go for somebody like Lauren Walker, anyway?" Shauna adds, bitterly, the green eyed monster looming over her like a dark cloud.

"She was hot," Zeke replies simply with a shrug, not noticing the wounded expression that claws its way onto Shauna's pretty features. "And I was steaming drunk. I wasn't going to turn it down if it was offered."

"Well, you should give her a call now and tell her how memorable she was. Although, giving it up to anyone who offers must be pretty time consuming." Shauna scoffs, rising from the grass and storming inside, fists clenched angrily at her sides.

I feel guilty for bringing it up, causing her feelings to get hurt. Looking over my shoulder, I consider going after her but deciding that it isn't my place; we barely know each other, and she would probably feel more comfortable confiding in somebody like Marlene.

"Dick move, dude." Four sighs, kicking his foot to splash the perplexed dark-skinned boy.

"What did I do wrong?" Zeke splutters, completely oblivious to the auburn-haired girls affections for him. Too naive for his own good.

"Tris, you should go talk to her," Marlene tells me, noticing my uneasiness. "She is more likely to talk to you, trust me. You're easier to confide in."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Er, I wouldn't exactly say that.."

"She's right. You go and make sure that she is ok, while we enlighten Zeke here about how to handle the fragile feelings of a girl head over heels in love." Uriah tells me, cutting an exasperated glance toward his floundering twin.

"Fine but if I make things worse don't say I didn't warn you!" I exclaim, turning on my heels and following Shauna's furious path, using the sound of quiet crying to lead me to her - locked in the upstairs bathroom.

I knock softly, channelling my inner good samaritan. "Shauna, hey, let me in. It's only me. Do you wanna talk about it?"

The lock clicks after a moments hesitation, and I push open the door to slip inside, closing it behind me. She sits on the edge of the exquisite bathtub with tear stained cheeks, furiously wiping at her glossy eyes. Mascara is smudged around her celery green orbs, slowly drying to her pale skin.

"I'm so stupid," she mutters, continuing to wipe away any stray tears with fierce determination. "He's always been so sweet, y'know? I thought I had him figured out, but I hardly know him at all. I had no idea that he was the kind of guy that accepts action wherever he can get it."

"He isn't that kind of guy. Zeke isn't an asshole. Sure, he might sound like one a lot of the time but I think his words just came out wrong." I assure her, skeptical of how to approach the situation without upsetting her further or just lying.

"I don't care that he slept with Lauren. It's just- well, she gets everyone. Zeke, my ex boyfriend. She stole him right out from under me like it meant nothing. Out of everyone, he had to do it with _her_. The wound is still pretty fresh and knowing that Zeke doesn't regret it.. it would kill me if he ever repeated history with her."

"You need to tell him how you feel," I tell her, frankly, sitting down beside her. "He's a big doofus - and like most guys - he doesn't understand that you have these feelings for him. You need to be straight with him. And I know this might not mean much coming from me, but you are ten times the girl Lauren is. Any guy would be lucky to be your not-so-secret crush."

"You really mean that?" She snivels, eyes bright with unshed, lingering tears.

"Girls like Lauren are destined to peak in high school. It's a tale as old as time. Sleeping around and stealing boyfriend is her ticket to running the show. You are confident and you have drive, don't let someone like her take that away from you. _Tell him_."

"What if he doesn't feel the same way? Gosh, I could never be in the same room with him again. There's just so many risks-"

"You seriously doubt that he's into you?" I laugh out loud, realising that she may be as deluded as Zeke under these circumstances. "I saw the way he stood up for you in front of Nita, and when he told us about the fight he was so concerned. And I don't even have to mention that lovesick puppy attitude he has around you."

Shauna blushes scarlet and takes a long drink from her solo cup, tipping it back to gulp it all down. "I'm going to need a few more of these to get me to confess my feelings for Zeke. I think I spotted some tequila downstairs.."

"Now we're talking! I meant what I said - you are confident and driven, and you can do this. Trust me, you'll be smitten with one another by the end of the night."

Unexpectedly, she flings her arms around my neck and envelopes me into a vanilla-scented hug. I grimace but lightly pat her back, realising that perhaps she needs this friendly embrace. And I will take one for the team if it means she forgets her tears and sorrow for the moment.

"I'm really glad you are our friend," she smiles, pulling away. Eyes dazzling with a newfound appreciation and determination. "Christina loves you especially. You seem to balance out her eccentricity. I just wish we'd met you sooner."

"You know, I'm kind of looking forward to this summer." I admit, standing up, watching as she follows in pursuit and loops her arm around mine.

"Me too," she agrees, leading us out of the bathroom, swiping at her under eyes to rid her skin of smeared makeup. "I have tons to tick off of my summer bucket list - visit the carnival at the next town over, have a slumber party, go to a drive-in movie.."

Hope beads my skin like dew on grass, the hope of a summer that could change everything. I can feel it radiating in to soothe my blood. Even though such a perfect wish seems so far away, there is a light in my heart that was missing yesterday. Right now it is a spark of hope, a ray of sunshine ready to be born.

Perhaps it is optimism I feel, the anticipation of good things to come. It's a sensation that I haven't felt in so long; it is as foreign as it is welcome.

I have encouraged Shauna to take a chance and think positively, but I have yet to walk the walk myself. I cannot change the bruises that litter my body, or the memories that haunt my mind, but I can accept them. I can move on from them. To embrace my destiny I have to let go of the past, begin to heal and to mend.

I'm not unfixable. And maybe this could be my first step to a recovery - accepting my scars and my history, but battling against them anyway. I am tired of being unhappy and isolated. I need to make a change, so it is a change that I will make.

Arms linked, we make our way down the staircase and amble into the large kitchen, giggling over a stupid joke. She stops dead in her tracks when we are only a few footsteps into the kitchen, spotting Zeke and Four conversing quietly in the corner.

"You can do this." I whisper, supportively. Giving her arm an uncharacteristic squeeze.

"Shauna," Zeke utters with red cheeks upon noticing us in the doorway. "Are you... I mean, is everything ok now?"

"We'll leave you guys to talk." Four tells them, noting the tension sparking between the pair of teenagers. Both head over heels for one another, and not even knowing it. A little endearing to observe really.

I untangle my arm and make my way toward Four- or, _Tobias_. I straighten my back and try not to limp, not wanting to draw attention to the poor condition of my ribs. Although both Zeke and Shauna are much too wrapped up in their own heated gaze, a pair of blue eyes scrutinise my slight stumbling, filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" He asks, quietly, as we make our way through the patio doors to the backyard. The large surface of his palm pressed against my lower back to steady me.

"Better than ever," I smile, telling the absolute truth. "Talking with Shauna really brought some things to light. We can discuss it another time, but from here on out, the only way is up."

"I suspect your eyes are twinkling under those big shades." Four grins as he leads us over to the others, who remain relaxing and goofing around by the pool.

"Is she okay?" Marlene asks as she spots us, leaning her forearms against the edge of the pool, gazing up at us with a worried expression from the water.

"She's going to be fine, we left them to talk a few things over. It ran a little deeper than just Zeke not thinking before speaking but I think she's gonna' be right as rain very soon."

After reassuring Marlene a few times over, she returns to flirting with Uriah and play fighting him within the strip of crystal blue water. Four kisses the side of my head swiftly before heading over to Will, diving right back into an animated conversation they must have started when I left to comfort Shauna. Christina grins as our eyes lock, waving me over.

"I didn't get chance to tell you earlier but you look super cute!" She tells me with a brilliant flash of her pearly white teeth, beaming at me widely. "The whole cute and comfortable thing really does you so many favours."

I glance down at my outfit, trying for a smile but not comprehending the compliment. Dressed in black denim shorts that brush mid-thigh and a loose white shirt, I don't exactly see where she is coming from.

My messy bun and ridiculously dark sunshades seem inferior to her perfectly styled tresses and designer rose gold shades.

"Thanks," I tell her anyway, sitting cross legged on the grass to face her, internally crying out in pain at the twinge of my ribs. "I-er, I wanted to apologise for last night. You know, what you saw with my mom. She drinks a little too much sometimes with friends and wasn't coherent enough to find her way home."

"I was worried about you. She seemed totally out of it - crying and shouting, asking you to come back home.. something about bruises." Christina replies, solemnly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"She was just confused. All of that stuff was just babble, she was telling me all about the dog we never owned on the way home, acting as if it really existed. I don't know, she just overdoes it sometimes. But it's.. it's nothing to worry about."

"Okay," she utters, slowly. Covering my hand with her own, she stares at me with an undisguised uneasiness. "Just know, if there's anything you need - anything at all - do not hesitate to call me. You're always welcome at my place, all you have to do is ask."

"I really appreciate that, Chris. And the same can be said for you, obviously. If you ever want to talk about stuff, I'm all ears." I answer, appreciatively, flashing her a modest smile of my own.

"In other relative news," she quickly changes the subject, clapping her hands together in delight. "I told my mom all about you and she wants you to come over for dinner one night this week. She makes a _killer_ homemade spinach pasta dish. I'm sure she'd positively love you!"

"That sounds great, I would really like that." I tell her, unable to decline such a tempting invitation; I cannot remember the last time I ate a homemade meal. It is too good an offer to simply pass on. I am also curious to meet Christina's mom, to discover just where she inherited her bubbly personality.

Our conversation is abruptly interrupted by a large splash and we whip our heads toward the pool, where Will flails around in a blunder, blonde hair stuck down to his forehead and glasses askew. Luckily, his novel remains safe on the edge.

Uriah stands on the side, laughing uncontrollably, doubled over. Christina laughs out loud, clapping a manicured hand over her painted red lips, dark eyes narrowed in amusement.

This loud display may have been a mistake on her part; Uriah suddenly stops laughing, his gaze now set on the giggling brunette. I can see the cogs turning in his head.

"You think that's funny?" He asks with a smirk that promises nothing but chaos, sauntering over to us. "Interesting.. let me show you something _hilarious_ , Miss Universe."

She isn't laughing anymore, her eyes narrowed into slits. "Uriah Pedrad, if you even dare lay a hand on me, you will have one hell of a law suit on your hands-"

Ignoring her threats, the mischievous boy reaches out to grab her, easily slinging a screeching Christina over his shoulder and carrying her toward the pool. Her fists pound mercilessly against his back, pleading for him to put her down. Uriah isn't prepared to back off so easily.

"It's a little hot out tonight, huh?" He ponders to himself, teasingly. "Maybe you should take a dip and cool off.."

"No! Don't even think about it-"

Her helpless strings of pleas draw to a staggering halt as Uriah tosses her into the water, laughing as she lands with a resounding splash. Completely submerged underwater, inevitably ruining her hair and makeup.

Marlene begins to cackle to herself also from where she is perched on the edge, joined by Will and Four. Though I keep quiet, not daring to risk the same fate as poor Christina.

The dark-haired spitfire breaks the water, furiously, gasping for air and kicking her legs dramatically. Her expression is truly terrifying, lip wobbling with rage. I would not want to be on the other end of such a raging ball of fire.

Will swims over to support her and she clings onto his shoulder, overdoing the damsel-in-distress act. I roll my eyes, fondly.

"You are dead meat, Uriah!" She roars, makeup smeared across her face and her hair sticks out every which way. "I am _so_ getting you back for that. Maybe not today, but definitely eventually."

"Are you asking me on a date?" Uriah jokes, clasping a hand to his heart in mock adoration. "Sorry, cha cha. My heart belongs to another."

"I'll make sure to pray for the unlucky girl." Christina growls, her attention momentarily diverted as Will guides her to the side of the pool.

He blows her a kiss in response. "Jealous green really isn't your colour."

"Get inside losers, the pizzas are here!" Zeke calls from the patio doors, a snarky smile on his lips. His words leave a kindness to be desired, but the obvious lift of his spirit could elude their making up... or making out.

"Shall we?" Uriah extends his arm for Marlene to take, and I watch as she hops up from the ground and links her slim arm through his. Giggling as they wander up to the house. Christina and Will follow, towels wrapped around them to aid the aftermath of their surprise swim.

I remain cross-legged on the grass, wincing in anticipation of having to get to my feet and the inevitable pain that will follow. But before I can formulate a plan that will cause me the least amount of suffering, Four has crouched next to me, his hands gently coming to cradle my waist. Slowly but surely, he eases me up to my feet, supporting me with his strong and sturdy grasp.

"They're giving you trouble," he frowns, lightly skimming a hand over my ribs. His scowl deepening as I wince at the contact. "You need more ice and another dosage of painkillers."

"I don't want them to know I'm hurt." I protest, shaking my head, taking his hand in mine and curling the other around his forearm. Keeping myself upright.

"We can say that you tripped on the way over here, and ice it over your shirt. They'll be none the wiser. C'mon, Tris. You're in pain." Four pleads with me, skimming his fingers over my collarbone in a feather-like touch that makes my knees weak.

"They won't believe it," I insist, anxiously, as we begin to head up to the house to join the others for pizzas. "Especially not Christina; she barely believes that lie I made up about my mom, she knows somethings up."

"Tris..."

"It's okay, I'm okay," I tell him, brightly. Determined to uphold my good mood, barrelling through the pain. "I just need to sit somewhere comfortable and eat some pizza. If it gets any worse I'll take some medication, alright?"

He concedes with a sharp sigh and I tilt my face up to kiss his cheek, having to stand up on my tiptoes to reach. This softens him up a little and he squeezes my hand, pulling me through the patio doors and into the living room - a spacious room with a couple plush-couches and a fluffy rug, magenta beanbags scattered around for a pop of colour.

Snagging the only spare seat - a large armchair, big enough to fit the both of us because of my tiny size - he gets me settled first before grabbing two paper plates and loading them up with pizza slices. Four adjusts himself carefully beside me and I fling my legs over his, finding a more comfortable position for us both.

The others momentarily clock our close bodies, surveying us with knowing expressions, before moving onto something else almost instantly. I swear that I see Christina shoot me a suggestive wink from across the room and heat floods my cheeks.

I suddenly realise that I am still wearing the sunshades indoors, looking rather out of place and odd. The sun is beginning to set now too, there is no avoiding it. Soon it will be dark and my excuse to cover up my eyes will be invalid. Instead of digging into my pizza, I stare into nothingness, attempting to decipher a good enough excuse to explain my black eye.

Coming up with a half ass solution, I pull my long blonde tresses out from the messy bun, allowing my hair to cascade down to my waist, framing my face in a waterfall of light. I flip my hair over to one side, letting it fall lazily over one eye as I slip off the sunglasses. Keeping my bruised face angled away from the others.

"It looks like those two have reconciled their differences." Four whispers into my ear and I glance over to where Zeke and Shauna are curled up in the corner, moon eyed and completely invested in one another, as if they were all alone.

"And about time too." I chuckle, turning my head to bury my face in his shoulder, pleaded with my advice; she finally put herself on the line and spoke her mind, achieving the outcome I know she had hoped for.

Drawing my head back out from his warmth, I flush slightly, hyper aware of my sudden tendency to act so mushy with him in front of others. Always desiring his touch. I guess it's hard to remember where we are sometimes. Besides, we haven't exactly discussed where we stand with whatever is going on between us.

"Oh my gosh," Christina gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, wide eyes trained on my face. "Tris, what the hell happened to your eye?"

"Shit. That's one painful-looking bruise. Who did you piss off?" Uriah adds jokingly, giving me the once over too. Four tenses angrily beside me.

"Don't be silly, no one hit me you idiot," I play it off with a laugh, rolling my eyes. "I got up to go to the bathroom last night and didn't turn on the lights. I walked right into my bedroom door."

"Come on, I can help you with that," Christina declares, getting to her feet and holding out her hand for me to join her. "A little concealer and colour correction will do your eye the world of good."

"We'll help." Marlene adds, hopping up to follow us into the kitchen, gesturing to Shauna to get up too.

Four is hesitant to let me go, his expression entirely wary. Noticing this, Christina laughs. "Don't worry, I promise to deliver your girl back in one piece. You can relax."

He blushes pink and rolls his eyes, attempting to appear casual over the implication of our exclusive relationship. My own cheeks begin to sting and I usher my brash friend out of the living room before she can embarrass us any further.

I obediently take a seat on a leather barstool upon instruction as Christina fishes around in her purse. Marlene hops up onto the granite counter and munches happily on a large pizza slice while Shauna makes herself comfortable on a stool beside me.

"So, Juliet," Marlene begins, watching Shauna with a smug grin."What did you and Zeke talk about?"

"And by _talk_ , she means was he a good kisser? Not like lukewarm dishwater, right? All slobbery and awkward.."

"He wasn't dishwater," she protests, glaring at the awaiting brunette who is beginning to apply concealer to my bruised eye. "More like melted chocolate.. _amazing_. You were totally right, Tris; I just told him how I felt with complete confidence and he said he felt the same! You know a lot more about girl talk than you think."

"Well, she sure has a lot of practice now that she's bagged one of _the_ hottest guys in town. C'mon, spill, Tris! We're dying to know!" Marlene begs, nibbling on her pizza crust with an eager expression.

"I haven't _bagged_ anyone," I shake my head with a sigh. "Things are good between us. I guess we haven't really talked about labels. I mean, does it really matter? All I know is that I like hanging out with him. He's cute and kind and sweet-"

" _Sweet_?" Christina snorts. "I don't think a girl - or guy, for that matter - has ever described the intimidating Four Eaton as sweet. Friendly, yes, but never sweet."

"There's no rush to label things, but you're already acting like a couple. You should just talk to him about it, find out his opinion. Take your own advice!" Shauna encourages, squeezing my shoulder.

"Look at you girls coupling up all of a sudden. I'm going to need to find myself some killer arm candy for the summer.." Christina smiles, setting my eye area with a translucent powder.

"I am _not_ coupled up." Marlene insists, scowling with determination.

"Oh come on, that whole flirty dynamic you have going on with Uriah is so cute it's almost sickening. Seriously - it makes me want to vomit." She retorts, handing me a hot pink compact mirror.

I snap it open and look into the reflection, pleasantly surprised with the transition. What was once black and blue skin is now only slightly tinted purple. Although it is clear that I am still injured, I never expected even the best of makeup ability to work miracles.

"What about Will?" Shauna suggests, genuinely. "That boy is completely smitten with you, like a lovesick puppy. He'd do or say anything you told him to. Why not give him a shot? It could be a nice change from the assholes you usually date."

"Fool around with," Chris corrects her, returning her emergency makeup items into her purse. "Not date. Never date. Unlike you lovely cherubs, I don't think I could ever bring myself to be tied to one person. We're young, this is the time to experiment and have fun."

As hard as I try to imagine living a life like Christina, the pieces just don't fit. Eventually around with somebody I trust like Four is going to be difficult enough, let alone with people I am not attached to in anyway.

Besides, I could not picture myself opening up to and trusting anyone the way I have with Four. Whether he knows it yet or not, he is mine. And I am in every way his. Perhaps I should tell him that - he can't read minds, after all.

"Well, no matter what happens with any guy, we all have each other's backs. And that's the most important thing." Shauna concludes with a large grin, drawing a heart warming from all of us - even Marlene. I find myself more and more grateful for their acceptance of me. Welcoming me into their inner circle with open arms.

There is a loud knock at the front door and the guys emerge from the living room, puzzled as to who it could be. Uriah and Zeke seem apprehensive, probably worried as to whether it is their mom returning home earlier than expected.

When nobody moves to answer, Four lets out an exasperated sigh and strides toward the front door. "I guess I'll open it then, shall I?"

"See!" Christina whispers with a small giggle. "He is _not_ sweet."

I elbow her in the ribs gently in protest. "He is too! A little scary sometimes, but sweet all the same."

Flinging open the door, I watch as he displays the telltale signs of aggravation and anxiety: the muscles in his back pulled taut, posture rigid and straight, the hand that grips the door is clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"We have company." Four announces flatly, not turning to face us.

In synch, we all move toward the door to take a look what awaits on the porch. I peer around his muscular arm, eyes widening at the sight. Beside me, Zeke mutters a string of curses and a horrid feeling of dread stirs in the pit of my stomach.

Outside, a crowd of over forty people are scattered across the driveway, carrying beer kegs and liquor bottles, cheering and yelling. Leading the charge is a platinum blonde girl, with a neon purple stripe in her hair. Her serpent green eyes promising a night we will never forget. Shauna clasps my hand tightly, tensing considerably.

"You really thought you could have a party without inviting moi?" Lauren asks, tilting her head in amusement, hand on her hip.

My head spins and I curl my fingers into Four's tee... this will not end well.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys! I had so much fun writing this chapter and the interactions. I wanted to give you a much lighter chapter as well as provide a little more character development for the others.**

 **The support for this story really warms my heart and your comments and reviews are all so encouraging and supportive. It makes me very motivated to write chapters and upload them much more frequently.**

 **Let me know if you notice any TV show references in there too ;)**

 **Make sure to drop me a review and let me know your predictions of what may go down now that Lauren and a couple dozen people have crashed!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 14 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

The crowd of intoxicated teenagers are overly jubilant, singing along to the songs that flood out from the sound system, cranked up to full volume. They rub shoulders and step on each other's toes, not seeming to mind at all. Complete pandemonium taken flippantly in stride.

As I had feared, a neighbour of Uriah's heard the music and had taken the liberty of sending out a text to the entire school, spreading the word like wildfire. What was supposed to be a relaxing evening has morphed into a wild house party: music that is far too loud, too much alcohol and an abundance of grinding and kissing teenagers.

I spot Christina amongst the crowd, seductively swaying to the beat, unperturbed by the fact that she is still only clothed in a skimpy bathing suit. It is certainly attracting a lot of male attention; half of the football team surround her eagerly.

Uriah is dancing atop of the kitchen counter, singing loudly and attempting to body roll - I have lost track of how many shots he has taken in the last half hour.

Shauna stumbles into my side, drunkenly gripping my arm and I flinch, shaking her off in surprise. Lucky for me, she is too drunk to take any offence. Her lipstick is smeared slightly around her mouth, and I don't have to guess who is at fault for that.

"A slight heads up," she slurs into my ear, pointing in the direction of the staircase. "You might want to go and protect your man - Lauren seems to have her sights set on him tonight."

My blood runs cold, an unfamiliar jealously boiling up inside of me. I am conflicted; in any case it is none of my business, but this is different. Lauren is infamous for her shameless ways and Four is an attractive guy. I shouldn't be surprised that she has pinpointed him as her next victim. Is it really my place to intervene?

I briefly thank Shauna before turning on my heels and heading in that direction, deciding to go with my instincts and check it out. The music seems to become louder, my anxious heart thumping to the same tempo as the bass. I trust Four, but I do not trust _her_.

I linger in the hallway beside the staircase, nodding a hello to a familiar girl from my geometry class who grins in return, attempting to spot a pair of certain blue eyes among the people.

He stands in the corner conversing with a guy from his track team, laughing and seemingly ignoring the girl vying for his attention. It is both amusing and infuriating to watch - his blatant disregard for her presence, and her persistence unwavering even so. It isn't until that Lauren tugs at his shirt that he snaps his head to look at her, eyes rigid and hard with disinterest.

"Hey," the grinning girl - Tori, I think her name is - knocks her hips against mine playfully, cradling a solo cup. "Careful there, you might just burn a hole into the side of her head."

I turn to look at her, reluctantly dragging my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. I survey the dark hair, streaked with neon colours braided intricately and her slanted hickory brown eyes.

I recognise her faintly from the few classes that we conveniently share; like me, she keeps to herself and never seems to speak up very much at all.

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing." I joke, dryly, folding my arms and refocusing my attention on the platinum blonde, leaning casually against the staircase.

"Watching is only going to make you angrier," she states, as if it is so simple. "C'mon, I'm heading out for a smoke. Care to join me?"

Shrugging, I nod mutely and follow her out of the front door, sparing a glance behind me. Reciting a string of desperate prayers inside of my head that not intervening was a wise decision. I know that Four can handle himself, but that fact does little to soothe my raging jealously. A feeling that is incredibly foreign and unappealing.

We sit down on the stone step leading up to the porch, and Tori pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taking one for herself before offering. Delightedly, I help myself to a tightly rolled cigarette, longing to feel the smoke in my lungs as a distraction from my newfound possessiveness.

I pull out my own lighter from my back pocket and light up, eagerly accepting the nicotine into my system. My muscles instantly relaxing at the familiarity, the comfort that I ached for finally returning. Removing it from my lips, I blow the smoke carefully into the warm night with a sigh of relief.

"Fuck, I needed this," I admit, flicking the ash away onto the stone step. Not really registering that I am casually interacting with a stranger. "It's Tori, right?"

"At your service. I know _your_ name - Tris Prior. Infamous for your bad behaviour. Didn't you drive Mr Henry to early retirement after only a month?"

"Merely rumours," I assure her, not quite believing my own words. "I'm pretty surprised you knew my name. I generally try to keep myself on the low."

"I shared almost all classes with you last year, and on the rare occasions that you did show up, you would just piss off whatever lame substitute teacher we had that day by falling asleep at your desk. Funny shit."

"The teachers bail on us all the time, using the excuse that they can't handle our behaviour, so why should we show up to their stupid classes all the time?" I mutter, slowly drawing back another cloud of smoke.

"Y'know I half expected you to spit at me for coming so close," she muses and I snap my head in her direction, horrified. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're a little.. unapproachable. If you aren't glaring at anybody who dares to walk within five feet of you, you're probably busy scowling at something else."

"If being unapproachable keeps everybody away, then I'm obviously doing something right. I might be cold, but I'm not _mean_." I tell her truthfully, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Well, ice queen, what's the deal with you and barbie back there?" Tori asks, bluntly, exhaling a cloud of billowing smoke through her nostrils, drawing attention to her bronze septum ring. "You looked like you were going to rip her hair extensions right from her scalp."

I feel like I should be offended or at least surprised by her candid attitude, but it matches her image entirely. A no-nonsense badass who walks the halls in clunky combat boots and lace gloves. Her honesty is quite refreshing.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I retort, flatly, staring at the smouldering cigarette between my fingers. Becoming short enough to burn me. I drop it to the ground and crush it with my sneaker.

"Uh-huh," she hums, watching me with an undisguised curiosity. "Is there something going on with you and that preppy track star? What's his name.. Four, is it? The closest Newport has to a celebrity, so I hear."

"He's not just some preppy track star," I protest with a roll of my eyes. "And no, there's technically nothing going on with us. Not in the way that you're thinking."

"I have a hard time believing that. Though I must admit, he must have some kind of personality beyond the handsome face to get your attention. You don't seem like the kind of girl to date a jock."

"Well, what about you?" I shoot, turning the tables around on her with an arched eyebrow. "Please do fill me in on the easy and functional affairs of _your_ love life. I'm sure I couldn't hold a candle to it."

"Feisty... but touché. You don't have to give me the gory details, but if you want to keep him away from the claws of Lauren Walker, you're going to have to fight fire with fire. There's no avoiding her advances, not until she gets what she wants. Everybody knows that."

"I'm not fighting anything. Frankly, it's none of my business. I can't be jealous.. he's not even mine. Not really. I have no right to stand up to Lauren, I don't _own_ him. It's as simple as that." I respond, firmly. Internally furious with myself for not being able to control my damn feelings.

"It's okay to protect what's yours," Tori shrugs, nonchalantly. "Girls like Lauren constantly ruin relationships all the time. Nobody dares to stand up to her, to put her in her place. Think about it.."

"She hasn't ruined anything. I _don't_ start fights. So unless she kisses him without consent, or crosses a line that he hasn't allowed her to surpass, I have no reason to go all green-eyed and rain havoc down on her conniving ass."

"Now that is a sight that I would love to see," she laughs, stomping out her cigarette with the sole of her leather boot. "But if you ever need help to get revenge, I know a guy who owns a bee farm-"

"I don't think that will be necessary, but I'll be sure to keep that in mind." I snort, not doubting her potential to plan all kinds of evil retribution.

"The offer still stands, just let me know. A pot of honey and some chicken feathers would work nicely with the bees.." Tori adds, reaching into her pocket and uncovers a hidden silver flask. She unscrews the top and takes a swig before holding it out in donation.

"What is it?" I ask, taking a hesitant sniff of the contents and recoiling at the strong scent. "Shit, what _is_ that? Bleach?"

"Of course not. It's my own signature concoction - vodka, tequila and a little rum."

"That sounds gross," I shudder, passing it back without taking a sip. Unwilling to take the risk. "How can you even bear to drink that stuff? Are you insane?"

"Your loss," she notes, slipping the flask back into her pocket. "It's liquid confidence. A few swigs of that and you can do anything. It's pretty hardcore and I've had my stomach pumped once or twice after going a little overboard, but it's no big deal."

I look down at my hands. Tori is a girl that has completely skidded off the rails; it doesn't exactly sound like she has very good parents if getting her stomach pumped is no big deal. I wonder what they had to say about it? For all I know, she could be in a similar situation as I am. If I follow the path that I am on, continuing in my toxic spiral, I could end up just like her. It isn't too late to change.

A car pulls up at the end of the driveway and rudely beeps its horn. Tori gets to her feet and fishes out another cigarette, tossing it in my direction. I catch it with ease but look up at her in bewilderment.

"My ride is here," she explains, nodding toward the beat-up red truck. "You're going to need that if you plan on getting through tonight with that pacifist attitude. Good luck to you."

"You're leaving?" I ask, puzzled. Her departure seemingly out of nowhere.

"This party blows. I have got better stuff to do. Remember what I said - protect what's yours, and a revenge plan is on the table if you're interested. See you around, blondie." Tori bids, sending me a lazy salute and striding away from the house and into the darkness, getting into the shady pickup truck.

I look down at the roll of white paper in my hand, deciding to save it for later; Tori was right, getting through this party will solely rely on a perfectly timed inhalation of relaxant.

Our conversation replays over in my mind, the words " _fight fire with fire"_ constantly whirring around my head at the speed of light. The truth they hold beginning to finally dawn on me.

I get to my feet and slip the cigarette into my pocket before venturing back inside, instantaneously suffocated by the crowd, laughing and singing along to the music. It is like a whole other universe from the calm retreat of the front porch.

I can't spot anybody that I recognise within the entrance hall so I weave my way into the kitchen, searching for somebody to save me from my social awkwardness.

An obnoxious pop song fills the room and I have to suppress an eye roll when I identify Lauren and two of her friends suggestively dancing on the kitchen island. Wiggling seductively in their short skirts and low-cut shirts.

I amble over to a smaller hallway that ends abruptly with a door, possibly a bathroom. There are no people around this area, just a couple making out against the wall, getting a little too hands-on for such a public setting.

I turn away with a disgusted sigh, only to be caught off guard when the bathroom door swings open and I am pulled inside, fingers closed around my wrist. My back is pressed flush against the door, and I struggle to get away, panicking. Images of being pinned down against my will flooding my mind.

I open my mouth to scream for help until my eyes focus on the pair in front of me - a sleeping, dreaming, waiting colour. The promise of safety and security.

"Tobias," I whimper, closing my eyes in relief before flashing them back open in anger. "You can't scare me like that! You idiot!"

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I was hiding in here for like ten minutes until I peered out and saw you. I didn't think, I'm sorry." He apologises profusely, keeping me against the door as his hands come to cradle my waist gently.

"Hiding?" I ask with a concerned frown. "Why are you hiding?"

" _Lauren_ ," he admits, gravely, through gritted teeth. "She hasn't left me alone the entire night - it's exhausting! You were missing entirely and I had no other option but to excuse myself for another drink and lock myself in here. That girl does not take no for an answer."

"So.. you said no?" I ask, not even attempting to hide the insecurity from my voice. Looking up at him with wide and vulnerable eyes.

"Of course I said no," he replies with the simple shake of his head, a hand coming up to brush my cheek. "Tris.. there's only room for one girl in my life. I don't want to sleep around or date anybody else. I want.. I want _you_. You're my girl, y'know? There's nobody else."

"Your girl, huh?" I tease with a grin, my spirit elevated of jealousy and spite and uncertainty. He wants me, just as I want him. _Only_ him.

"Exactly." He reiterates with a smirk, his thumb running across the surface of my bottom lip. The gentlest of touches that send a pleased shiver down my spine.

"I need you to know before you really invest in this," I gesture between us, awkwardly. "I'm not going to be a walk in the park. I get scared and I will push you away as many times as I can manage it, sometimes when you put your hands on me I'll freak out. I might wake you up in the middle of the night calling you after a bad nightmare. I want you to be sure before you label yourself as my boyfriend.. I'm not easy. And you need to understand that."

"I understand and none of that makes me want you any less. I'm going to be there for the pointless bickering, the nightmares, the anxiety attacks. I don't want easy. I want you to be happy- I want to be the one that makes you happy again."

"And I'm going to be there for you too. Through the stuff with your dad, when you implode on yourself because of the pressure you're put under. You're not just anybody, Tobias. I trust you.."

"I won't let you down," he whispers, moving his mouth to place a feather-like kiss on my own. "We can make this work, you and me. Nothing else is alright anymore, this whole world is fucked up, but _we_ are going to be ok. That's what matters."

Despite my tightly wound mentality, unsure of whether kissing him will make me feel better or worse, I wind my arms around his shoulders and stand up on my tiptoes to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Gently sucking on his full lower lip and swallowing his growl.

He dominates the kiss instantly, but instead of slamming his mouth to mine with the urgency that we shared this afternoon, his lips move with deliberation and care. Soft and delicate. Providing me with the gentleness that I didn't know I needed. His large hands cup the side of my face carefully, the strength of his muscles keeping me flush against the door and pressed up against his body.

"As much as I would love to continue," he murmurs, pulling away to press a small and lingering kiss to my forehead. "You're not in the right place and I don't want to push you. Building this kind of trust isn't going to be a quick thing, and I don't want to risk setting you off.."

I know that he is right; from the surprise grabbing and large crowds, I don't think I could stand much more physical contact. I don't want our moment to be spoiled by cruel flashbacks or damned anxiety. I consider apologising but decide against it - he understands, there is no need to say sorry for something I have no control over.

"You know what I really want right now?" He adds, resting his forehead against mine tenderly. "To be curled up in your treehouse, reading poetry with no interruptions and no responsibilities."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea. I've had a bad night.. it's very likely that I'll be waking up screaming and you do not want to be around for that." I shake my head, curling my fingers into his shirt.

"Do you.. get these nightmares often?"

"Pretty often," I whisper in confirmation. "I was so sure that I would disturb you with one last night but I slept soundly.. perhaps it's because you were there next to me."

"I'll fight off the bad dreams if they ever visited you. I'll bet they're way too afraid to pester you while I'm around.." He teases and I swat at him, cracking a smile.

"Fight them off with what? Your hilarious wit?"

"My bare hands, of course." The blue-eyed boy retorts, running a hand through my hair briefly before unlocking the bathroom door.

We leave with intertwined hands, confidently, ignoring the stares of the couple practically dry humping one another against the wall. I move closer to Four's side, now drawing comfort from his presence.

That is only the beginning of the wide-eyed stares and gawping we are going to receive tonight, walking around with clasped hands like it is completely normal.

"Do you want to go get a drink?" I ask, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Or should I fetch Lauren and tell her to meet you out by the pool.."

He shudders dramatically. "I still can't believe Zeke actually did that. I mean, come on, where's the dignity?"

"Shame you're stuck with me, you could have been living the dream!" I tease with a laugh, reaching for a bottle of soda on the countertop, releasing his hand.

"Mm, a terrible shame." Four retorts sarcastically, leaning against the fancy refrigerator, muscular arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey, Four," a deep voice calls out from the opposite end of the room, another football player, calling him over to a game of beer pong. "Come on, I need a partner. Get your ass over here!"

"I'll pass. I'm kind of busy." Four replies, slinging an arm around my shoulders proudly and sending him a lazy salute.

"You should go," I encourage, elbowing his side. I spot Will across the room on the couch alone, looking damn miserable. "I'm going to go speak to Will, he looks a little lonely. We'll catch up later, ok?"

"If there's any trouble, all you have to do is whistle," he grins, leaning down to whisper hotly into my ear, "you know how to whistle, don't you?"

I shiver involuntarily. Being so anxious of touching is a curse; there is nothing that I want more than to just tackle him and press my lips to his in a passionate collision. But as always, what I want is never that easy.

I know that I can't let Max hold me back, but forgetting something as terrorising as sexual assault doesn't happen overnight. I can only count my blessings that he never went all the way; he didn't take my first time away.

"Go on - skip," I chuckle, gently shoving him in the direction of his awaiting buddies. "I'll see you later if you're lucky. If I can't find you, I will assume you are outside in the pool..."

"Okay, alright, I'm going!" He laughs with an adorable scowl, striding across the room to his friends, the crowd parting like the Red Sea to create a suitable pathway.

Clutching my cup, I weave my way in and out of the people, ducking to avoid swinging elbows and flinching away from accidental touching. Large crowds are definitely my worst nightmare.

I keep my eyes trained on Will who slouches despondently on a nearby couch, his nose twitching nervously. My mind flashes back to the day at the river, his palpable anxiety. I find myself sympathising with the blonde haired boy.

"Hey," I greet, sitting down beside him but keeping a good distance between us. "What's got you so down? I noticed that a few guys from the AV club showed up, why aren't you hanging out with them?"

"Will she ever notice me?" He sighs, ignoring my question and gazing out onto the dance floor, celery green eyes laced with dismay. "I mean, _really_ notice me. I know that the probability of a girl like her paying even a little attention to somebody like me is almost impossible, but I just can't seem to get her out of my head."

I follow his line of sight until my eyes find Christina, dancing with the kicker of the football team - a complete jerk with an inflated ego and the warped idea that his mediocre appearance guarantees him access into every girls pants. She doesn't seem to mind, giggling and wiggling her hips seductively, revelling in the attention.

"Hey, don't give up hope. Christina is finding her feet, she doesn't know what or who she wants. You have just got to show her that the guy of her dreams is standing right in front of her." I assure him, spurting out my second advisory speech of the night. I am beginning to feel like Mother bloody Theresa.

"She doesn't want my heart.. she just wants the attention," he replies, flatly, adjusting his wide framed glasses. "Look at us, Tris! What are we doing here? I should be studying at the library, my actual plan for the summer vacation. And shouldn't you be off investigating something for an article? We don't belong here."

"Tell me about it. I feel like a fish out of water. But you can't lose hope - if you want to talk to Christina, just go ahead and do it. Ask her to dance as soon as she drops her boy toy. The worst she could say is no. Don't spend this golden opportunity acting like a wallflower."

"I don't know _how_ to dance," he admits, awkwardly. "I spend my time studying and reading, not perfecting my dance moves in the mirror. And statistically speaking, it is very probable that I could suck, or fall-"

I get to my feet and gesture for him to follow, deciding to take the initiative and help him to relax. "Come on, lets dance. I don't tend to spend my free time prancing around to pop music either, so it will just look alternative."

"Tris, this really isn't a good idea.." Will complains as I drag him into the sea of dancers as the song changes to an upbeat remix of Havana, a familiar sounding song that I don't completely detest.

"Don't think, just dance." I tell him with an encouraging laugh, beginning to softly sway my hips to the tune. The music moves my body like a puppet attached to invisible strings, barely noticing the leering gases of the guys in the close vicinity, too caught up in bringing Will out of his shell.

Will begins to loosen up a little himself, nodding his head along to the music, his blonde shaggy hair falling into his eyes, brushing against his glasses. His shoulders join the rhythm too, and he moves with ease, muscles relaxing. Chortling, he grabs my hand with a friendly grip and spins me around, enticing a giggle from my own lips.

"Christina's watching us," he murmurs with a victorious smile, eyes glinting. "You're just full of good ideas, aren't you?"

"Girls like guys with confidence. Peeling yourself off the wall and dancing even though it makes you uncomfortable shows your confident. Christina especially likes independent guys, of course this was going to make her notice you." I respond with a smug smile, pretty impressed with my matchmaking skills as of late.

Glancing over my shoulder to see for myself, I see Christina completely ignoring her new flavour, staring directly at us. A newfound admiration and heat in her melted chocolate eyes. I send her a wink and she smirks, the cogs in her head turning at the speed of light.

I predict another minute or two of her internal debate before she effortlessly sashays toward us and asks to cut in. Will deserves the attention of a pretty girl, though I pray that she doesn't break his heart.

Proving my theory, after only another minute of dancing, she arrives at our side, eyelashes fluttering seductively. As predicted, she asks sweetly to cut in and I happily oblige, giving Will a supportive thumbs up.

A pair of hands grab my waist and before I can react, the bulge of a crotch rolls into my behind. I whimper in fear inaudibly under the loud music, wrestling free of the grip and spinning to face the presumptuous and inappropriate person. Coming face to face with Al, captain of the basketball team.

"Tris Prior," he smirks, looking me up and down with appreciation, licking his lips. I'm not sure how he knows my name, we have never even exchanged a single word to one another. "You are a sight for sore eyes. I never suspected you would have moves like that. Have you ever considered becoming a cheerleader? With those short, short skirts-"

"Move your busted, creeper ass. _Now_." I scowl, attempting to move around his bulky frame, becoming angrier as he follows my steps. Blocking my path.

"Don't be like that," he slurs, his gaze lowering to my bare legs. "It's not a big deal. I just wondered if you were interested in a little fun for the night. We could get comfy in the backseat of my truck.."

As his beefy hand extends to grip the back of my thigh, panic burns my blood and I push him away with both hands. The edges of my vision blurring with dread and I attempt to control my breathing and reign in the urge to pull back a hand and slap him silly.

"You have two choices," I tell him, angrily. "Either I can crack one of your nuts - left or right, your choice - or you can walk away and live to be a douchebag another day."

"Hey, hey, Tris. Relax," Zeke tells me, appearing out of nowhere and protectively standing at my side. "Al, dude, is there a problem here? If you are going to insist on drunkenly harassing every cute girl I am going to have to put you out."

"You're threatening _me_? This little bitch just told me she would crack one of my nuts just for touching her!" Al exclaims, glaring down at me with an unforgiving animosity.

"Careful what you say to her," Zeke warns, poking a finger against his burly chest. "Seriously, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Just back off, alright?"

"I'm not scared of a girl her size, and I'm not afraid to take you down either, Pedrad. Don't push me." The large boy growls, not taking Zeke's advice seriously enough. Although I didn't exactly understand it myself.

"Are you brave enough to take me on too? Because I seriously wouldn't risk it." An additional voice rumbles from behind me, and now I get it. Zeke was warning Al about Four, my scary boyfriend.

"Oh, I-er, there's no need for that. There's no problem. Really. My bad." Al squeaks, retreating from his offensive tone. Even he isn't stupid enough to talk back to the school socialite; whether he wants to admit it or not, Four depicts the pecking order.

"Really?" He growls, stepping in front of me, and I can imagine the hard look in his kind blue eyes. "It looked like you were putting your hands on my girl. And I could have sworn you called her a bitch too. Do you have no manners at all? You _don't_ talk to women that way."

" _Your_ girl? Shit, man - I didn't r-realise. I'm sorry Four. I'm sorry Tris. I didn't mean anything by it, honest." Al stammers, curling into his shell like a terror stricken turtle.

"What do you mean your girl?" Lauren suddenly appears with a nasty snarl, narrowing her sharp green eyes in my direction. "There's no way that this is a real thing. You could have had me, but you're with _her_?"

Before I can open my mouth to defend myself, Marlene is already at my side with clenched fists as she hisses, "Like Four would ever go for you. You know what else he could have had if he chose you? An STD. We don't know where you've been."

"Why you little-"

"Marlene's right," Shauna adds as she approaches, hanging onto Zeke's arm to stare down the enemy. "Tris is twice the girl you are. You may think you have everybody wrapped around your little finger but you are wrong."

"I might not have _everybody_ , but I sure do have Matthew," Lauren retorts with a wicked snap of her tongue. I watch the strawberry blonde flush scarlet and I can only assume that Matthew is the ex-boyfriend she told me about. "It didn't take much convincing to tempt him into my bedroom."

"Watch your mouth. Why are you so proud of destroying relationships?" Marlene snaps, volatile with fury.

"I can't help it that the girls in this hell hole of a town can't seem to keep their man in line. It's not my fault that they find me so irresistible." Lauren replies, hand on her heart with faux innocence.

Al opens his mouth to chime in to the heated confrontation, instantly closing it as Four cuts him a threatening glare and spits, "Stay out of this. You've done enough already."

"You really are one stone cold bitch." Christina adds with a curled lip as she drags Will over to check out the commotion. Somebody has pulled the plug on the music, our fiery spat now the centre of everybody's attention.

"She's not a bitch." I disagree, quietly. Staring at Lauren with a scrutinising gaze.

Marlene looks at me incredulously. "Yes she is! A boyfriend-stealing bitch who's only agenda is climbing her way to a bad reputation in hopes of becoming even just a tad likeable."

"I know why you act the way you do," I speak directly to the platinum blonde who has her arms crossed defensively over her chest. "It's not to hurt people intentionally, and it's not to achieve something. I know exactly who you are and why you want everybody to be so miserable - you're unhappy."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." She scoffs, as if having real emotions is so preposterous. Her pained eyes tell me a different story.

"You tear people down over and over again because it makes you feel powerful, like you have a purpose. You want everyone to think that you're this slutty head bitch in charge, when in reality you're just an unhappy girl with nobody to confide in. You hate yourself, so you project that hatred onto other people. You are _scared_."

I know that I have hit a nerve when her green eyes unexpectedly fill with unshed tears. "Back off. You don't know me."

"Yes, I do. You are the girl that peaks in high school. And ten years from now, you are going to wake up still in Newport, still screwing the same guys and wondering what the hell happened to your life. If you don't learn how to treat people with respect _now_ , it's going to come back and bite you right in the ass." I tell her, emotionlessly. I don't believe she is a bad person, and just like Tori, she just needs to get back on track again.

"Don't start digging into things you don't understand. Leave me the _hell_ alone, Tris. Enjoy your fleeting time with Four; it won't be long before he realises what we all know. You are _rotten_." Lauren shouts, a tear streaking down her cheek. Turning in her incredibly high stilettos, she rushes away from the crowd in floods of tears.

I almost feel bad for her.

Al has scuttled away too, withering under the heat and intensity of Four's fierce glare. He is tense and furious beside me, jaw clenched. His shoulders heaving with quick breaths.

Everybody stands in a stoney and uncomfortable silence, unsure of what to say or do. No one has ever stood up to Lauren like that. I don't know what came over me. I guess Tori's advice helped somewhat, but instead of fighting fire with fire, I fought with the heaviness of honesty.

The music starts up again and the party goes back into full swing, as if it never stopped at all. There are people around me praising me and congratulating me but I just feel numb. I shouldn't feel remorse for my actions, but still, the guilt gnaws at my insides at the image of her tears.

Turning away from my friends I mutter, "I need a fuckin' cigarette."

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **I LOVED writing this chapter, introducing Tori to the story was really fun and interesting to me. I plan on developing her character a little more if that sounds good to you guys, as well as Lauren's character too; she isn't just your average mean girl, like Nita. Also, Tori and Lauren's roles may become intertwined soon *hint hint***

 **I also wanted to emphasise Tris' struggles with physical touch in this chapter and divulging into the idea of her night terrors which I will also begin to explore in a little more depth. And yay, our favourite duo are FINALLY official!**

 **See you in the next chapter,**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	15. Chapter 15

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 15 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

I slam the piece of paper down onto the front counter, anger coursing through me like a wildfire deep within my blood. "Care to explain what _this_ is?"

"You're a smart girl, Tris. You can read it for yourself." Beanie responds, flatly, prying the flyer from my hand.

"There's no way you're shutting this place down," I insist, fiercely. "It's one of the only good things in this damned town. You know that! People love it here."

"The bank is refusing to lend me any more money, I'm under staffed and drowning in debts. I have no choice, dear. I wish there was another way, truly, but this is the way it has to be. Running a business is expensive." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking utterly exhausted.

"It isn't _fair_ ," I exclaim, scowling. "This place has been here since I was a kid, it brings people together. This closure is just another nail in the coffin that is Newport. What next? Our school? Our library?"

"Take it up with the bank. It isn't my decision, and I've tried everything to keep this place open. Those money grabbers have been lingering like a bad smell for a few months now. I knew that it was only a matter of time.."

My scowl doesn't shift as I flop down onto a barstool, dropping my backpack carefully at my feet. The closure of _the old bean_ is one that I can't accept. Last month it was the tiny hardware store, replaced with a cheap gift shop, and now this? It isn't just a cafe, it's the heart and soul of the entire town.

"Hey, chin up solider," Beanie adds, softly, a sad smile on his lips. "Come on, how about a milkshake? Vanilla? On the house, one last toast to my best customer."

"When's the closure date?" I ask, reluctantly, watching him begin to make my ice cold milkshake.

"End of the week," he sighs, scooping generous amounts of ice cream into the blender. "Seems they are eager to shove me out and on my way. I started this business from nothing when I was still only a young lad myself. I did it on my own too.. and now I have to leave it all behind me."

I sigh, resting my chin in my hand and angling my face toward the window, smudged with rain drops. Outside, the sky is uncharacteristically grey and dreary, a perfect reflection of my feelings.

A lot of my best childhood memories take place in this very cafe, it's hard to accept that soon it will simply be nothing but four walls and a roof.

"I remember the first time you came in here," Beanie muses, amusingly. "Hand in hand with your dad in a sparkly pair of fairy wings, bounding along in these silver heels about five sizes too big. You were only a little mite, barely four years old. Gosh, how time flies."

"Fairy wings, huh? Sounds embarrassing." I wrinkle my nose, unable to suppress a small chortle at the idea of a little girl with blonde pigtails and fairy wings.

"The best part is that your dad was wearing a matching pair," he laughs, pouring the silky smooth vanilla concoction into a tall glass. "You had that man eating right out of the palm of your hand. He paraded around in those wings almost every day just to please you. Andrew was a good man.. a little rough around the edges in his youth, but I always suspected he would make a great dad one day."

"You knew him when you were teenagers?" I inquire with a curious frown; I haven't spoken about my dad like this for a while now, but it feels kind of nice.

"Oh, yes. We were a right pair of troublemakers, me and your dad. Sneaking out past curfew, shooting spitballs from the back of the classroom. Always in some kind of conflict with our parents over it. He'd get into a few fights, go off the rails a couple of times. But I always knew he'd bounce right back, and he did just that."

"He would have been gutted about this place closing down," I point out, accepting my cold beverage with an appreciative smile. "I mean it. He loved it here."

"Andrew would not have shifted so easily. He was a headstrong man, always standing up for what was right.." he pauses and his expression turns unavoidably fond. ".. you remind me of him. You are definitely your fathers daughter, there's no question about it."

"I just want to make him proud, y'know? I figure I owe it to him. Letting him down is the last thing I want to do." I sigh, ducking my head and swirling my straw around aimlessly.

"You _do_ make him proud," Beanie assures me, tipping up my chin playfully. "Every day. You're the determined girl he raised you to be, Tris. Don't forget that, eh?"

"D'you mind if I stick around for a while?" I ask, gesturing toward the cluster of booths. "I want to make good use of this place while I can.. my writing always seems to be at his best here."

"Be my guest - you're welcome to stay as long as you like. I am happy to help with your inspiration." He snickers, turning toward an elderly couple who have just approached the counter to take their orders.

I hop down from the barstool and fling my backpack onto one shoulder, wielding the tall milkshake along with me. Slipping into the furthest booth away from the door, I pull out my laptop and flip open the lid. Formulating an astute plan in my head.

Beanie was right; I am a determined girl, and my dad would want me to fight for what's right - I _have_ to keep this place open.

My somewhat cunning idea involves an insistent and steadfast article outlining the unmerited closure, printed by the dozen and spread around town. Into mailboxes, on doorsteps, handing them around to locals and tourists alike.

An attempt to raise awareness of the unjustified termination of a well loved business. It's time we stand up for what really matters.

Pulling up the document, my fingers begin to fly across the keys, my anger and indignation spouting out of me like a broken faucet. Courage washes over me like a perfect surfer's wave.

It is like something is driving me to stand up for this business, demanding me to brave in the face of the law. I have never felt this kind of bravery before.

I can't stop thinking about my dad, even within this carousel of new and fresh inspiration. The impact he seemed to have on people with his genuine kindness and valour. I tend not to reflect on the time we spent together, in order to spare myself from the pain, but I feel only fierce pride.

My dad was a great man, and I _will_ make him proud.

Idea after idea spills onto the document, each better than the last. A bunch of disorganised thoughts crowd my head, somehow forming perfect sentences with the flash of my fingers. An endless river, a waterfall. This kind of innovation makes me feel awake, like I'm really alive and not just shuffling around with no purpose.

Casting a brief glance out of the window, I notice the signs of an approaching thunderstorm. There are growling, ominous clouds that gather above, looming over the town. Drizzle turns to a heavy downpour and through the sheets of rain comes the first quiet rumble of thunder.

I grab my earphones from my backpack quickly, plugging them into my laptop and hitting play on a randomised playlist. Drowning out the noise around me out of both fear and irritation for the distraction.

Storms haven't always been my kryptonite; the howling winds and flashes of lightening are enchanting, forces of nature asserting their ultimate power. Flashlights under the bed sheets, squealing at the roars of thunder as a child. Crawling into bed with my parents for comfort when it got a little too scary.

The first night that Max turned violent occurred during a terrible thunderstorm. His furious bellows matched the growls outside, the wailing winds doing little to drown out his flame of anger. I was huddled under the comforter as a sixteen-year-old girl. There was no flashlight, no giggling or squealing. Nobody to comfort me.

Ever since that night, the initial catalyst that set off a traumatic chain of events, the prospect of storms are no longer exciting. The sounds fill me with dread and panic, swallowing me whole.

Instinctively, I reach into the pocket of Four's large jean jacket that is wrapped around my small frame and grab my cellphone. Swiftly unlocking it and tapping out a quick text message, hitting send before I can even register why I did it.

 _T: I don't like thunderstorms..._

It is but a minute before my phone buzzes with a response, and I attempt to hold it steady against the tabletop with shaking hands. Desperately trying to disguise my fear in front of all these people in the fairly busy cafe.

 _F: Here I was thinking you weren't afraid of anything_

 _F: Come over. You'll always be protected when you're with me._

 _T: Sounds tempting.. always, huh?_

 _F: Always. Cuddling_ _always_ _does the trick during storms_

 _T: I miss you_

 _T: And your cuddles_

I sigh, taking a long sip of my milkshake.

It has been over a week since I last saw the blue-eyed enigma. With his training and races and my shifts at the beachside cafe, it has been impossible to align our schedules. I miss him a lot more than I like to admit. Snuggling with his jacket at night as a measly substitute.

 _F: I miss you too_

 _F: I'm seriously going out of my mind._

 _T: What are you doing tonight?_

 _F: I was_ _hoping_ _you'd take me up on my offer to come over. My mom is out of town for_ _the weekend, I'm a free agent.._

Before I get the chance to respond to his enticing text message, the tapping of knuckles against my booth catches my attention. I snap my head upward and remove an earbud, a scowl etching its way onto my face as I come face to face with a red-lipped platinum blonde.

"Hey, Tris," Lauren greets, awkwardly, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "Do you mind if sit down?"

"Why would you want to do that?" I ask, taken aback by her request. Half expecting a volatile insult to be cast my way.

She sighs, sliding onto the leather opposite me and peeling her wet jacket away from her shoulders. The aftermath of getting caught up in the heavy pelt of rain, I assume. "Because I figured I owed you an apology after the party.."

I almost choke on my milkshake. "An apology? _You_ say sorry to _me_? As satisfying as that would be.. what's the catch?"

"You've never heard more unlikely words come from my mouth," she scoffs, her features softening as she adds, "..but it's true - I'm sorry. It was totally wrong of me to lash out at you like that, unprovoked, no less. There's no catch."

"Why bother to apologise? You don't owe me anything at all. In fact, you hadn't spoken one word to me before that night. I'm surprised you even knew my name." I respond, bluntly, leaning back into the booth to stare at her, scrutinisingly.

"You're not like the other girls," she rolls her eyes, as if the answer is obvious. "You didn't hit me or call me a slut like I had expected. You had the decency to give me the truth, hard and cold. I respect that. Which is why I figured I would have the same decency to apologise."

"The girls were right, you are a cold hearted bitch.. but there's a reason for it. It's frankly none of my business, but I know that somewhere deep down you don't like acting the way you do." I shrug, taking out the other earbud to give her my full attention.

"Whatever," she mutters, crossing her arms over her scantily clad chest. "Can you just accept my apology and move on? This doesn't make us friends or anything and you're right. It's none of your business."

"I thought you came over here to apologise, not start another fight." I retort, boldly. Staring at her fiercely from across the booth.

"I'm no good at this reconciliation thing, ok? I don't usually apologise for stuff, I just smoke a cigarette and get over it. Give me a little leeway, at least." Lauren exclaims, waving her hands around animatedly.

"If I accept your apology will you leave me alone?" I ask, visibly shuddering as lightening strikes, illuminating the room briefly and enticing gasps from a number of patrons.

"Are you scared of storms?" She asks, slowly, narrowing her eyes as she surveys my trembling fingers and what is probably an excessively pale complexion. The fear leaving me slightly nauseous.

"No," I snap, jutting my chin stubbornly. "Of course not. I'm just cold. Look, I accept your dumb apology. Can you just go away now?"

"Now look who is goading a confrontation," Lauren mocks, smirking smugly. "Don't kid me. You're all twitchy, like you've got a rat in your pants. I didn't someone like you to be afraid of something as stupid as a few drops of rain."

"Someone like me?" I ask, defensively, straightening my posture to channel my angriest glare. Letting her know that she is foolishly pushing my buttons.

"Y'know.. tough, I guess," she admits, her tone losing its furious bite. Noticing my confused expression she rolls her eyes. "Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about. You stomp around school like some kind of angry hellion. Nothing seems to bother you, like you don't care what other people think."

"That's because I don't care," I tell her, dryly, turning back to my article. "And I am also going to ask you for the third time to shove off. I'm kind of busy, and since you've said what you came to say.."

"Do you have to be so damn impossible?" Lauren sneers, but the anticipated animosity isn't there. "I just- I wish I could be more like you. I could do what I like, _be_ who I like, and not care about the repercussions. I wouldn't have to.. you know, put on this front all the time."

"What are you so afraid of?" I ask, brashly, looking toward her again with a great disinterested reluctance. "Seriously, why do you feel the need to act like a cheap slapper? I know that isn't who you are, so what's your deal? What is _so_ bad about you that you have to hide it from the world?"

"I can't tell you. It's way too messed up.. nobody knows." She insists quietly, tilting her head down with flushed cheeks. For the first time, she truly looks vulnerable. The light shining through the cracks of her bad bitch facade.

"You aren't.. pregnant, are you?" I ask, hesitantly, watching her eyes flash to meet mine with a combination of surprise and ferocity.

" _No_!" She exclaims, scowling. "No.. it's not that at all."

"Then what is it?" I inquire, tiredly, preparing myself for an anticlimactic reveal, a dramatic excuse to keep me on the edge of my seat. "Come on, it can't be that bad. Are you a secret mathematician, because that would be-"

"Tris, _I'm gay_." Lauren interrupts, her quiet voice trembling with the admission. Her cheeks blushing a startling shade of scarlet, completely unsure of herself.

"Oh," I murmur, caught slightly off guard. That was _not_ what I was expecting. "Lauren, that's not messed up at all. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. Not even a little bit."

"I've tried to ignore it, push it away. Like if I don't acknowledge it, it will all just disappear. So I surround myself with guys in hopes that they could.. I don't know, straighten me out."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask in a low whisper, the sounds of the thunder almost drowning my voice out completely.

"I'm tired of hiding. You were right - I act out because I'm unhappy. I make others miserable so I don't feel so different. It's like I'm living a lie; everyone thinks I'm this awful slut that breaks up relationships for fun, but it's not like that at all. You can see right through the act.. I had to get it off my chest, to tell _someone_. You seem trustworthy."

"You aren't different. Lauren, you're still the same girl with the bitchy attitude and the same rude scowl. Who you're attracted to doesn't change who you are as a person, and as much as I dislike you, you shouldn't be ashamed of who you are. Own it." I respond, earnestly. Barely managing to shake away my surprise to offer her some real advice.

"Easier said than done," the platinum blonde scoffs, huffing out a breath. "My parents live in the old days. It came out that one of my cousins was out and proudly gay, and they refuse to talk to him. And don't get me started on the looks I would get at school, all the pointing and whispers.."

"You will be fine. I promise. Ok, you might get a few idiotic comments walking down the hallway but you have to learn to brush it off. And as for your parents, they will just have to learn to accept who you are. You can't change it, and you shouldn't hide it. Coming out will be hard, but staying in the closet and wallowing in your own sadness is going to be _much_ harder."

"Every day feels like a fucking war," she adds, despondently. A lone tear streaking down her perfectly painted face. "I walk around so mad at the world, but I'm really just fighting with myself. I don't want to let anybody down but I also don't want to fight anymore. I want to be me.. I just don't know how. I don't know how."

"The only person you are going to let down is yourself if you keep bottling this all up inside. It doesn't have to be this way. This is who you are, and only you can decide how you want to live your life. You can stop the internal struggle and find real happiness, or continue to hide away from who you truly are." I answer, firmly.

My voice isn't sympathetic or compassionate, and I expect that if she came to me, she didn't want anything of the sort.

"I know you hate me and I'm not exactly crazy about you either.. but you're kind of cool. Thank you for not looking at me with pity or like I'm a different person." She adds, wiping her eyes and straightening up positively.

"You aren't a different person, you're still annoying as hell," I roll my eyes, smiling. "I think you know what you need to do. Telling me was the first step, but I think there's some other people that you need to talk to.."

"My parents." Lauren sighs, running a hand through her tousled hair.

"Just give them a little time. If they don't understand right away just give them the space to comprehend it for themselves. They are your parents, and I'm sure they'll love you no matter what." I remind her, drinking up the remains of my melted milkshakes.

The storm has calmed, the rain lightly hitting the pavement, the clouds slowly parting. I doubt that the thunderous tempests are over for the day, but for now at least, things are clear and peaceful once more.

"I guess I should get going," she notes, shuffling out of the booth and shrugging on her leather jacket. "I have a lot more emotional turmoil on my plate for the next few hours. Next stop - _home_."

"I know we might not be friends exactly, but thanks for telling me. I know how hard it must have been for you.. I-er respect that." I admit, clearing my throat. Unintentionally paying her a half ass compliment.

"Frenemies?" The choked-up blonde proposes, extending a slender hand for me to shake in an agreement.

"Seems that way." I smirk, accepting her hand shake and watching her cross the cafe with a new bounce in her step, shooting me a smile over her shoulder before venturing out into the light shower of water.

My cellphone buzzes against my thigh and I scramble to check the message, completely forgetting about my conversation with Four after the strange yet comforting interaction with Lauren.

 _F: This silence is deafening..._

 _F: Get your_ _cute butt over_ _here_

 _T: Sorry!_

 _T: I got distracted, I'll be_ _there in fifteen_!

I shut my laptop and slip it into my backpack once more, zipping it up and slinging it onto my shoulders as I move out of the comfortable leather booth. Deciding that I could finish the article in the warm and comfortable sheets of Four's bed; this article _will_ be done by tonight.

Waving goodbye to Beanie, I head out into the humid afternoon, shaking out my hair and standing still for a moment. My face angled up to the sky, eyes closed, relishing for just a second the calm before the next raging storm.

A single frame of time filled with peace and harmony among the chaos.

I rush away from the warm cafe and dart between tourists in raincoats, ducking under obnoxiously large umbrellas and hopping carefully over puddles. Eager to be reunited with the boy that has cursed my mind for the past seven days; instead of focusing during longer shifts, I find myself daydreaming of blue eyes and a killer smile.

A strange ache of longing to just be with him echoes through the very marrow of my bones. An icy wind trapped in the chambers of my heart. I never knew that missing somebody that was still alive could take over every fibre of your being and wring you out like a sponge every day. It is a torment that I was definitely unprepared for.

Veering onto a street lined with houses, I notice that on the sidewalk up ahead the uneven cobblestones have a rainbow sheen - all that is left of a kid's game of hopscotch. The outline is still there, a ghostly shadow of what it was before the mild storm hit.

After such a dry and hot few weeks, the rainy day is welcomed with the coolness that it brings. Summers here are usually scorching, so wetter days like this one are savoured by the locals especially. They are rare occurrences, after all.

My mind flashes back. Dodging parked cars and deep pools of rain water, I can't help but revisit my honest conversation with Lauren. I knew that her wrath ran deeper than what meets the eye, but I never could have predicted her admission. Surrounding herself with guys and disguising her true feelings fooled us all.

Although our situations are hardly similar, Lauren understands what it feels like to be an outcast. Perhaps not to the naked eye, but she feels different to everybody around her, always on the outside looking in. Being gay isn't anything to be ashamed of, but somehow she has tricked herself into thinking that it is.

She protects her heart by pretending she doesn't have one.. we definitely have that in common.

I pick up my pace, brow pulled low into a thoughtful frown. I can't bring myself to feel entirely guilty for what I said to her at that party, no matter how out of line I could have been; I was right all along, and only told her what nobody else would - the truth.

It was the boost of confidence that she needed to admit to herself what was really going on inside of her own mind.

Just as the first few droplets of rain begin to fall, signalling yet another collision of nature, I make my way up to the front door, fingertips tingling with the anticipation - seven days felt more like seven weeks.

Merely two seconds after knocking the door, it flies open and reveals a grinning boy with sparkling eyes. Somehow, he manages to look better and better every time that I see him. Like his impossible good looks will never fade.

The pull between us is undeniable, like two forces of nature compelled to obliterate one another in an explosion of passion and romance.

"There's my girl." Four grins, but instead of letting me indoors, he simply pulls the heavy backpack away from my shoulder and sets it just inside of the door.

By now the downpour is so heavy that it falls against the sidewalk with resounding claps, like bullets barrelling toward the ground from up above. A thick wall of water, cold and powerful.

Taking me completely by surprise, the tall boy steps around me and out into the open, head tilted towards the sky as the rain comes splashing down. Within seconds, his skin is wet with the droplets, adorable curls clinging to his forehead and the clothes he is wearing cling to him like a second skin.

He looks insane, standing perfectly still as if the wave of water is just a figment of my imagination.

"What are you doing?" I can't help but laugh, peering at him through the thick sheet of rain. "You're going to die of hypothermia at this rate. C'mon, are you crazy?"

"Dance with me." He requests, tilting his head to gaze at me. A mischievous smirk pulling at his plump and enchanting lips.

"Ok, so you _are_ crazy," I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm not dancing with you! Are you drunk?"

"No," he shakes his head, walking toward with me steady strides. Grabbing my hand and pulling me into the downpour, the rain chilling me to the very bone. "Come on, dance with me. It will be fun."

"I don't dance." I insist, tightening my fingers around his, their comforting touch sending a pleasurable shiver along my spine. I step closer, involuntarily, wanting to get closer.

Four pulls my body flush against his own and holds me tight, beginning to sway to the beat of the rain pummelling the sidewalk. I shiver in his arms, my hair completely drenched and hanging at my sides in a dripping mess. The clouds are dark above us, promising an angrier storm, but I barely notice.

"There's no music." I giggle, staggering as he spins me around in a circle. My feet splashing into a particularly deep puddle. As if to make a point, he begins to hum the theme tune to Jurassic Park.

"I missed you," he admits, ceasing the playful teasing to lean his forehead against mine. "How stupid is that? A week apart and I was driving myself crazy thinking about you the entire time.."

"It's not stupid, I warranted a couple nights in a mental institution too," I joke, leaning into his strong frame. "A little pathetic, really. We are just a pair of big babies."

"Let's just save ourselves the trouble and never be apart.."

The raindrops run down our faces to where our lips meet, each of us tasting the cold water. Instead of detracting from the intensity of the moment it takes us to new heights. Four pushes his mouth against mine fiercely and the wave of pleasure that runs through me is intoxicating, making my head swim.

Admittedly, there is just something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain. A tender moment that can't wait. It is the thrill of the burst of affection that is expressed, not caring about the soaking drops. Nature can rain down on us all it likes; our sunbeams just smile right back, unable to be suppressed.

With his strong arms wrapped around me and the cold rain sliding over my skin, I admit something to myself, an internal and monumental disclosure of great proportion.

Three little words that buzz around my head like a ball of energy. Words that I didn't think I would ever feel, let alone consider uttering out loud.

 _I love you._

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **New chapter! Before I say anything, I wanted to say a very big thank you for over 200 reviews! I read every single one and you're all so damn sweet!**

 **I began my character development for Lauren within this chapter and I hope you have enjoyed seeing another side to the fiery but broken blonde. I like her character overall and wanted to give her a little credit for what she is dealing with.**

 **Also, finals are over soon which means summer break which means more free time to write! Expect frequent updates soon :)**

 **Drop a review and let me know what you thought!**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	16. Chapter 16

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 16 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

"I got a text message this morning.. from _him_."

With her solemn confession, I pull back from peppering kisses to her neck, eyes wide and inquisitive. My playful disposition dampening with those words, dread replacing the spirited teasing.

"What are you talking about?" I demand, frowning. "What did the message say?"

"Turns our Max is on the board of the bank that is trying to close down Beanie's place. He heard through the grape vine that a girl was causing a stink about it, and after getting ahold of my article... well, he wasn't too happy."

"Did he threaten you?" I growl, my fists clenching.

"If you could call it that - it was more of an intense warning," Tris sighs, looking down into her lap. "He said that if I didn't back down he'd finish what he started.."

"That sounds a lot like a threat to me. That asshole has crossed the line - someone has to do something." I insist, coldly, getting to my feet and crossing the wooden treehouse in only two furious strides.

"Where the hell do you think you're going? Tobias! I'm serious - _stop_." The blonde scrambles after me, grabbing onto my forearm to pull me back.

"I'm going to the cops," I tell her, angrily. "I promised you that I would protect you, that he would never touch you again, and I'm sticking to that promise. And if going to the cops is what it takes, then so be it-"

"You _also_ swore you would never tell! Please, don't make this into a bigger deal than it is - while I'm not at home, he can't hurt me. Max is bluffing, he's trying to intimidate me into submission."

"Are you seriously trying to convince me that he's all talk? May I remind you that it was _me_ who saw you bruised and bleeding, unable to stand on your own two feet because of him! He doesn't seem like the kind of man to make empty threats-"

"How would you know?" Tris yells, abruptly raising her voice. "You have no idea who he is, or what he's capable of. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle him. And I will _not_ give in to money-grabbing terrorists."

"Tell me you're not actually thinking of continuing this protest? If you don't give him reason to go through with his threat, maybe it will all just blow over."

She scowls, determinedly. "I'm not giving up on that place. While I'm out in public, I'm safe. Max might be a monster, but he's a monster who cares about a public reputation. He'd never attack me in a public place. I know what I'm doing, ok?"

"No, it's not ok!" I exclaim, fiercely. "I'm going to the police and that's final. They'll lock him up, make sure that you're safe again!"

"Lets say, hypothetically, that you went to the police. Then what? They throw Max into prison and possibly convict my mother for severe neglect. And where does that leave me? Stuck in the care system, bouncing between foster families. And I'll bet that they won't be in Newport. I'll be forced to leave everything behind. Don't you think I've already considered the police before?"

"We could figure it out," I assure her, weakly, watching her pace heatedly. "Find you somewhere to stay in town. We could make it work."

" _We_?" Tris laughs, coldly. "No, you mean _I'll_ figure it out. While I'm stuck in a house full of strangers, you get to go home to your nice warm bed where your mom waits on you hand and foot with special foods and drinks. You get to go home, while I get nothing at all."

"Thats not cool; don't use my home life against me. My life isn't as perfect as you make it out to be. My mom's almost certifiably crazy, and my dad is locked up for being a murderer. So don't act like I've got it so much better than you-"

"Want to trade places?" She snaps in a tone so icy that a shiver reverberates against my spine. I duck my head, unable to answer - _no_ , I wouldn't.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, at a loss for anything else to argue against. "I just want to keep you safe. Max means business.. and if anything ever happened to you... well, I don't know what I'd do."

Huffing in an unexpected reaction, the tiny blonde turns her back on me and stalks over to the air mattress. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't need you to shelter and protect me. I've made it this far on my own. I can take care of myself."

"If you're so adamant that you can look after yourself, then why the hell are you putting yourself at risk? He will hurt you if you carry on with this stupid protesting, can't you see that?" I retort, the anger rekindling inside of me and glowing brighter than ever.

"Stupid protest?" Tris echoes, her stormy eyes clouding over with fury. "If you think it's so beneath you then don't bother turning up tonight. _Don't_ tell me what to do; if this is a risk, it's one worth taking. And that's my decision, my choice."

"I can't just sit around and watch you put yourself in danger! I _can't_ lose you." I insist, fists clenched at my sides to suppress the shaking of my fingers.

Tris rolls her eyes, coldly. Unfeeling. "So don't sit around and watch. I never asked you to! Just leave me alone... in fact, I want you to really leave. Go home."

This isn't the girl that I have come to know; the blonde before me is glacial and unsympathetic, completely indifferent and withdrawn from any kind of emotional attachment. This is the Tris that stomped the halls of Allegiant High, scowling to hide her pain. Her walls have barricaded me out again.

"You don't mean that," I shake my head, cupping her face with my hands, which she freely allows me to do. "I know you don't. You're scared and you're trying to push me away. I'm just terrified that you'll get hurt, I can't even stand to think about it.. I-I love you."

The three words slip out of my mouth before I can register what they mean. The feeling has been brewing for a while, but I had been lacking the courage to say them out loud. It might not have been the best time to let it slip, but I have no choice but to face the music.

To my dismay, her eyes only harden they stare into mine. "Go home, _Four_."

"Did you hear what I just said?" I demand, letting my hands drop back down to my sides. "I love you. And I protect what I love, I keep it safe. You have the power to completely break my heart.. if anything happened to you and I couldn't stop it I would be in pieces, Tris. Don't you understand that?"

"I'm only going to say this once more - _go home_. I don't want you here. I don't _need_ you. Stop hanging around like such a sad case." She scoffs, taking a step back.

Unforeseen tears cloud my eyes as I stare into her unfeeling slate orbs, completely surprised. Things were good between us, it seemed as though she really felt the same way.. and now this. It's like she never even cared at all.

"You really want me to leave?" I ask, quietly, my voice shaking slightly.

"Yes, I do." Tris confirms, reiterating her demand with folded arms and an icy glare.

I back away toward the door, utterly shocked by her abrupt change of behaviour. "Well, you know where my door is once you've pulled your head out your ass. I'm only one call away, Tris. Whenever. I don't know what's going on with you but I'm here if you need me."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out, wonder boy." Tris retorts, spitefully, turning away.

By the time my feet have reached solid ground, the treehouse looming above me rather insidiously, a tear has streaked down my cheek and my hands shake with pure, unadulterated rage.

I wore my heart on my sleeve and got screwed over by the one person I trusted more than anything. The enchanting blonde slashed me with her betrayal and it's like my guts are packed with sand and the strength has deserted my limbs.

Abandonment is betrayal; it is the burning of the soul, an irreversible action that poisons anything good and pure. I seem to have lost the person I care about the most, the one who has steadied and supported me.

It happened in a split second, the sudden coldness and malice about her. An unfamiliar and unsettling aura, one that I have never seen before. Something has shifted. Perhaps it is a gut instinct to push me away now that we have become serious, and she is developing new and foreign feelings.

Even in her most defensive and stoney moments, I have never goaded a response as cruel as that one.

As I trek through the forest, twigs crunching beneath my angry footfalls, I attempt to mentally dissect the argument. While both sides were technically justified, her reaction to my suggestions were like nothing I have ever seen before. It is impossible to figure out what that girl is thinking.

I can't help but wonder what she thinks about, the thoughts that run through her pretty head. Does she think about me as much as I think about her? Did that argument fuck it all up?

Tris kicked me out, showed me to the door, yet I still find myself lost in the depths of her persona. There is an invisible string that ties us together, and no matter how much she pushes and thrashes to break free, something inevitably pulls us back to each other. Right now, I'm not sure if that works in my favour or otherwise.

What I do know is that I should have stayed put. No matter how much she tries to kick me out of her life - encouraged by insecurity or fear - I should always stay and make it clear that I am not going anywhere. Maybe leaving was a big mistake on my part.

I can't fathom the idea that Tris had to feel this alone for so long. I would go out of my mind.

My steps falter and I pause, scratching the back of my neck. If I go back, I could face further humiliation and rejection, but it would also prove my determination to stay loyal and secure with her. However, I might not even make it past the ladder without having verbal rounds of abuse poured into my ear.

It's a difficult decision, but I have to do the right thing. The choice that could save us from this heated dispute.

Just as I spin on my heels to head back in the direction of the treehouse, my cellphone begins to vibrate to life in my pocket. I pull it out and frown at the screen - a phone call from the very last person I want to talk to.

"Hi, mom." I greet, reluctantly answering the call and cradling the phone to my ear.

"Tobias," she responds curtly. "I want you home. This instant. We have a lot to talk about."

"I can't just drop everything.. I'm kind of busy right now. Can't it wait? I'll only be two hours tops." I respond, apprehensively; the shortness of her voice is not a good sign.

"Busy?" My mom echoes, almost amused. "With what? Or rather, with _who_? Your blonde charity case perhaps?"

"Excuse me?" I snap, eyes widening. How the fuck did she find out?

"Home. Now." She replies swiftly before hanging up, leaving me with the empty silence.

I slip my cellphone into my pocket and shake out the tension in my arms, a powerful combination of dread and frustration building up inside of me. Like an active volcano bubbling to eruption; it's only a matter of time before I explode.

This can only end in tears.

Breaking out into a run, I pick my way through the greenery, picking up the pace as my adrenaline kicks in. The same question running through my head like a mantra - _could this day get any worse?_

I was hoping that my relationship could stay concealed from my mother from a little longer, that we could remain on the high. But like most extraordinary things, inevitably forces will come along to ruin them. And in this case, the opposing force is bitter and controlling.

My mother is a force of nature that cannot be avoided - her wrath is scarier than that of God. And after heeding all of her warnings and dismissing her rules, I am about to step into the lions den.

As hard as it is to let her down, I need to live my own life. I want the carefree times of being a teenager - parties, late nights playing video games, lazy mornings spent in bed and eating whatever I like.

It is selfish of her to ask me to sacrifice that stage of my life, the stage where I am supposed to figure myself out. It's pretty hard to do that when my future has already been mapped out for me.

Walking the sidewalk toward my house, my breathing becomes shallow and rapid, anticipating the impending heated argument. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples.

I shove open the front door and quietly close it behind me, reluctantly wandering into the kitchen to find my mom at the table, cradling a glass of red wine. Noting the half empty bottle on the counter, I let out a small sigh. The sun has barely set and she is already working through a whole bottle of Merlot.

"Well, if it isn't Romeo himself," she greets, bitterly, her mouth puckered as if she has tasted something sour. "Nice of you to show your face, dear."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, bluntly, leaning against the doorframe.

"I was approached by a tiny blonde girl today, handing out flyers. Of course I told her I don't participate in such trivial communal matters, but something caught my eye as she walked away - the jacket she was wearing." Mom replies, smoothly, running her fingers over the rim of her glass.

"That doesn't mean anything, lots of people own denim jackets..." I argue, hanging onto anything viable.

"I never said anything about a _denim_ jacket, Tobias," she goads. "And just to make sure I wasn't making a mistake, I checked your closet. Unsurprisingly, a certain dark jean jacket was missing. Care to explain?"

"It was only a matter of time before you found out," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's a small town, after all. Mom.. I care about her. I'm sorry that I hid it behind your back but I really do care for her."

"You don't care about her, you are a foolish teenager, Tobias. This is a juvenile attempt to rebel against me, a cry for help. Now, I have organised weekly meetings with a counsellor in the next town over to reign these rebellious actions under control-"

"This has nothing to do with you! If it was a cry for help, I wouldn't have kept the relationship a secret in the first place. Listen to me - Tris means the world to me. She understands me, she _knows_ me. I did this for me, not for you." I tell her, firmly.

"You actively defied me - I _told_ you that girlfriends were off the table. They distract you, put you off your game. You have a promising future, and I don't want you fooling around with a worthless girl and tarnishing all that we have worked for."

"She isn't worthless. And this isn't just a stupid high school relationship.. I-I love her. I won't let you ruin this; finding Tris is the best thing that's happened to me in a long time." I rebut, fiercely.

" _Love_?" My mom splutters, eyes bulging. "You're seventeen years old, Tobias, you know nothing about love. You are too young to love! This girl is going to destroy everything!"

"Tris makes me happy!" I exclaim, loudly. "She listens to me, and doesn't push me to be something I'm not. She accepts me for who I really am, not who I am made out to be. Don't I deserve to be happy?"

"I'm your mother, you have to understand that I want what's best for you. I don't want to see you get hurt." She protests, her voice becoming gentle. It doesn't fool me; I am way too familiar with her mind games.

"You don't want what's best for me, you want what's best for _you_. Now that dad's gone, you're using it as an excuse to control my life! Never have you stopped to ask what _I_ want, I just have to follow orders and let you decide my future." I shout, the suppressed anger finally coming to a boil.

"Don't you dare turn this around on me," she retaliates in a deadly tone. "I have looked after you, given you everything you ever wanted."

"Mom, I don't want to be a runner, ok? And maybe you would know that if you ever bothered to ask me!" I yell, my deepest and darkest secret spilling out of my lips. The second of the day.

"Excuse me?" Mom asks through gritted teeth, her grasp on the wine glass visibly tightening.

"You heard me - I don't want to have a track career, I don't want to run. I want to write. You've taken over my life and controlled every little thing to make sure I was always perfect. But I'm not perfect! I want to start doing things for _me_ , I need to take my life back."

There is a beat of silence before she murmurs, "Get out of my sight."

"Are you even listening to me?" I yelp. "Running is not my dream, it's something for you to cling onto rather than accepting what's right in front of you - just because dad made a mistake, it doesn't mean you have to punish yourself every day for it."

"He's coming back, Tobias! He was falsely accused, the law wronged him and we _will_ get him back. H-he's coming home... he has to."

"Just listen to yourself! Dad is never coming back - he _killed_ someone. An innocent person. He deserves to rot in prison, he deserves his punishment. Convincing yourself otherwise is not going to bring him home. Mom, you need help." I tell her, brashly.

"I don't even recognise you," she chokes out, her fingers trembling. "Where is my son? The innocent, perfect boy that loved me too much to disappoint me."

I fold my arms, my glare hardening, channeling my internal fire. "He's gone. He was a puppet on a string, an emotionless machine. But guess what, I've outgrown him. I've outgrown this whole charade. I'm taking charge of my own life."

"With that evil blonde sprite pouring poison into your ear, of no doubt." Mom spits, eyes narrowed into wicked slits.

My words falter, my shoulders deflating; I'm not even sure if Tris will still be by my side as I reclaim my life. I pray to any and all Gods that she will be waiting for me on the other side, that we can overcome whatever happened today, but for the moment I am alone.

Am I brave enough to face it on my own? I have to be. I can be.

"She's not evil. And this has nothing to do with her. This is about me finally having the courage to step up and tell you the truth. I'm sorry that I let you down but I can't live a lie anymore." I respond, ducking my head to stare aimlessly at my dirty sneakers.

"I always had such high hopes for you, Tobias. I never could have predicted that you would turn out to be such a deviant disappointment." She hisses, grabbing the wine bottle from the counter and taking a swig, not bothering to pour it into a glass.

I don't like this side of my mom, using wine to drown out her sorrows. Alcohol bends and twists inhibitions, morphing and poisoning them. Tris had to witness this daily, unable to prevent her mother from becoming addicted to the drink, washing away any parental responsibilities.

"I'm not going to apologise for who I am," I utter, steadily. "You taught to be ashamed of my imperfections, and that nobody could ever really love me for who I truly am. But you know what? I wouldn't want to be anybody else. This is me, mom."

"Go to your room and stay there," she whispers, turning her back on me. "I can't stand to look at you another minute..."

"Don't be like this, it doesn't have to be this way-"

"Tobias, get out of my sight. _Now_." She screeches, slamming her palm against the kitchen counter.

Conceding, I back out of the room and fly up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me. My head is pounding and my heart is beating relentlessly against my ribcage. How could today have gone so wrong?

I pace the room like a caged animal, ready to gnaw through bone. Being boxed into such a small space is only goading my fury but I have nowhere else to go.

Zeke and Uriah will have joined Tris and the others at the final bid to prohibit the closure of the old bean; Tris organised one last special night in the cafe with karaoke and discount vouchers for all customers. And since I have been banned from attending, that is not an option.

I should be there to support my girl and my friends, but I was blinded with fear and anger. I belittled all of her hard work by calling it stupid and insisting she had to back down. Although she cut me deep, I cut her too. We both had our parts to play in the heated spat. I just hope we can walk it back.

Somehow, no matter what I do, I just keep letting everybody down.

This loneliness is a vice on my heart, squeezing with just enough pressure to cause constant pain. It is times like these that I wish I could melt in the rain like a paper person. Just fade away with the tide, become invisible.

Without Tris, I am a tree stuck forever in winter, bereft of leaves and shivering under a blanket of frost. My world is cold, my limbs empty of the life they once had. I used to think that being lonely was something that just passed, like an abrupt and unwelcome wind, but this feeling lodges itself in my throat as if it were a vital part of my genetic code.

In a sudden surge of inspiration, I reach for my laptop and tuck myself into my desk. The last chapter of my novel has been pending, the perfect ending lost to the pickiness of my mind, but these emotions can be channelled into something positive - the final chapter.

My fingers fly across the keys, all the hurt and loneliness pouring out into the document. The poor heroine is left for dead by the people she trusted the most, cold and alone, shivering in the dark. Unable to accept her part in the catastrophic chain of events.

The words constantly flow, my eyes solely focused on the screen as the sky fades outside of my window. The amber hues of sunset giving way to the inky swirls of dusk. Hours have passed as quickly as minutes, pulling me later and later into the dark night.

After the last word has been typed, I slump back into my desk chair with a satisfied and victorious smile. Months and months of hard work all signed off with an ending I can be proud of.

The whole thing is kind of bittersweet; while I have managed to make lemonade out of lemons, the feelings of despair are still lingering in my mind. This success isn't as sweet as I imagined - Tris isn't here to share it with me.

Just as I reach for my cellphone, intent on calling Tris to clear the air, it buzzes in my hand. A call from the beautiful blonde herself. My whole body floods with relief; as minimal as it may seem, calling me first means she thinks that there is a chance to save us from our stupidity.

I quickly answer and press the phone to my ear. "Hey, baby. I'm so glad you called. I've been going out of my mind, I'm so sorry-"

"Four," a masculine voice floods into my ear and I sit up straight, bewildered. "You have to get down here. _Now_."

"Zeke?" I ask, frowning. "Zeke, is that you? Why have you got Tris' phone? What's going on?"

He gasps for air, seemingly overwhelmed and panicked. "Tris is in trouble. Everything was going fine but this guy showed up out of nowhere, we couldn't get to her in time.."

"What guy?" I demand loudly, getting to my feet. "Where's my girl, Zeke? Answer me!"

"She's hurt. She's hurt real bad, dude. You have to get down here right now.. there's an ambulance, the cops- _please_ , come quickly."

I hang up the phone and stuff it into my pocket, sprinting out into the hallway and down the stairs toward the front door. I faintly hear my name being called from the kitchen as I barrel out into the street.

My feet pound against the sidewalk as I run, faster than I ever have before. I am overwhelmed with panic, dread and guilt. Max must have gone through with his threat, after all.

Tears blind me as I move, bolting toward the town as quickly as my long legs can carry me. Adrenaline courses through my veins and my frightened breaths sound like thunder to my hypersensitive ears.

I hear the chaos before I see it - police sirens, shouting and panicking, children crying and officers yelling at one another. The red and blue flashes plastering themselves onto the sides of nearby buildings.

Elbowing my way through the crowd, I survey the crime scene. Broken glass and yellow tape everywhere. Beanie is conversing with two officers, tears rolling down his face. Crimson blood staining his white pinstriped apron.

Nearby, our friends are clustered together. Christina is hysterically sobbing into Will's sweater, gripping onto him like a lifeline as he embraces her. Uriah is as white as a sheet, expressionless, shellshocked. They are quietly crying and holding one another, aghast with horror.

The ambulance pulled away as I arrived, presumably taking Tris with it. In what condition I can't say. The blood covering Beanie's apron gives me a severe indication.

A tear slides down my cheek and I stand motionless within the commotion, staring into space. Max came back for his revenge and I wasn't there to stop him, to protect her. I should have been here. He could have killed her.

I meet Zeke's dark eyes from where I am standing and another tear slips along my skin. My hands shake at my sides and I feel light headed, as if I could pass out any second. He releases Shauna and makes his way over, the others uncertainly following right behind.

"Four.." Zeke whispers, extending his arms to wrap around me. I burrow my face into his shoulder and hug him back tightly, a choked sob escaping my lips.

Emotional pain floods out from every pore. From my mouth comes a cry so raw that the strangers stared, becoming glassy eyed themselves. My chin trembles as if I am a small child and I wail into my best friend's shoulder who just holds me tightly, not saying a word.

Is this what it feels like to truly fall apart? Is this as hard as it gets?

"I broke my promise," I weep. "I promised I would keep her safe, that he wouldn't b-be able to lay a hand on her again. It's all my fault."

I broke my promise. Will I ever get to make amends?

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys! I worked so hard on this chapter which is why I haven't updated in about a week. Poor Tobias! Tris is having a little crisis of her own which you will find out more about in the next chapter - which will give reasons for her behaviour. It just shows that leaving things on bad terms or walking away from an argument can be a very bad thing.**

 **The next chapter will be up soon, I promise. I wanted to thank everyone for their kind reviews too, they really motivate me to continue writing. Let me know what you thought to this chapter!**

 **Hint: shit is going to hit the fan from here on out!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 17 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

In my peripheral vision, I notice my usual energetic nurse waltz into the room with a plastic tray of food - fruit in a cup, chicken fingers and a glass of water. Not at all appealing.

"Good evening, Tris," Nancy greets, setting down my tray and flashing me an uplifting grin. "Are you hungry?"

Remaining unresponsive, I avert my eyes to stare at my hands, aimlessly fiddling with my IV. My skin is cold and pale, littered with unsettling purples and blues.

Nancy smiles sadly. "Can I get you anything? Maybe a book to read? I can't say we have anything entirely interesting, but I can give it my best shot."

As if expecting my silence, she pats my knee softly. If she noticed my flinch she doesn't pull me up on it. I watch mutely as she secures my wires for a moment, her deft fingers adjusting them into place.

The friendly nurse has been assigned to me for the past three days, and I am surprised to see that her sunny disposition has not cracked once. Nancy is nothing but smiles and gentle encouragements, her patience is admirable; despite me not uttering a word since I arrived, her kindness has not faltered.

My silence has done nothing but aggravate the doctors - while they note it down to shock, their patience often wears thin. After refusing to cooperate with a psychiatric assessment, I am on incredibly thin ice.

"Hang tight, buttercup." Nancy tells me with a slight smile, her long ebony hair swishing behind her as she leaves the room.

There is an undeniable silence to my soul; I am fall leaves under frost. I feel the chill in my blood, coldness bringing the synapses of my brain to a stand still. Part of it is pain, one I can mostly endure, rarely needing the heavy medication to help me sleep.

I am trapped in my long and icy winter, and now I must wait for spring and the chattering of the birds.

I tip my head back onto the scratchy pillow and imagine myself floating up to heaven - a heaven that resides within a small treehouse where a blue-eyed boy sleeps peacefully atop of a crappy air mattress.

For a moment, things were getting better. I had hope. And in another moment, I had to lose it all over again. I can't help but wonder if I was only put in this world to suffer.

In this crowded hospital I am alone. The day is broken only by the arrival of meals and medication or the doctor on her rounds. No visitors. The air is often punctuated with screams of agony or sobs bearing the sharp bite of grief.

Nancy returns shortly with an armful of books, some tattered and old but most shiny and brand new. "There isn't much to choose from, I'm afraid. Take your pick, sweetheart. It will make your time in here go a lot faster, believe me."

Conceding, I begin to sort through the stack of books for something worth reading. I pick up an old hardback and stare at the cover, running my fingers along the spine.

"Truman Capote, huh?" My nurse inquires, noticing something has captured my attention. "I'm way too squeamish for that kind of book."

I cradle it to my chest defensively before continuing to pick my way through the pile. I instantly scoop up the Stephen King novel and add that to my collection, examining the blurbs briefly.

' _In Cold Blood_ ' is Tobias' favourite novel and having it with me is like having a piece of him near to my heart. After the way I treated him, it may be the only way to feel close to him again. He'll never forgive me.

To me, he is living proof that even angels can fall in love with the cruelest of people. He loves me, and I threw it all away down to stupid insecurities and doubts. It's in my nature to push anybody away who dares to get too close - a defence mechanism - and now I've lost the one person that I care about the most.

There are times that my brain fries up. It's no excuse; I own my behaviour. I try my best to help and to stand up for what's right, and then a switch is flicked. My emotions turn cold, fearful, anxious. I back away, flee or lash out at someone who loves me.

In these moments I am least proud of who I am, for I fail to be the warrior I was born to be. Instead I show the frightened child I am within, damaged and afraid, the one still hiding under the table and awaiting a beating.

Sadness rushes through me like a flowing river, cold and unending. It washes any goodness out of me and leaves a mere shell of what I could have been.

"Tris," my nurse whispers gently. "You look a million miles away... would you like to talk to me about it? Maybe I could help - I'm wiser than I look, you know."

Shrugging, I continue to browse through the books. Nancy seems like the perfect confidant - kind, uncritical, patient and approachable. While I would love to divulge, I am too frightened that my words could cause even more damage than they already have.

"Well, working in a hospital ward means I'm pretty familiar with unhappiness, and that kicked puppy expression is a telltale symptom of a different kind of pain.. heartbreak, perhaps?" Nancy continues, slowly. "I wonder if it has anything to do with the handsome boy staking out in the waiting room."

I snap my head toward her, eyes wide. She couldn't possibly mean Tobias. After everything that I said to him, I can't imagine he would ever want to see me again. And I wouldn't blame him.

"Does tall, dark and handsome ring a bell? He's been waiting day in, day out for the entire three days. I have to drag him out of the waiting room eventually. I must admit, I have never met anyone with a _number_ for a name before."

He really is here, standing by in the pristine waiting room. Despite my cruel and nasty words, my blue-eyed beloved is still lingering in the wings. As if I couldn't feel any worse about our argument.

A single tear slides down my bruised cheek, leaving a damp trail in its wake. I don't deserve his loyalty or his forgiveness. How could a heart as pure as his ever love a poisoned heart like mine? It's too good to be true.

"Young love," she sighs, sadly, reaching out to wipe away the tear but draws her hand back as I flinch. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you two can work it out. The boy is driving himself insane with concern back there."

I shake my head softly; I'm not sure if we can really walk it back, fix what I broke. I let him down, I let _us_ down. Even if Tobias forgives me, I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive myself.

"What you have been through is awful, Tris. What happened to you was _wrong_. You need somebody familiar to draw you back out of this traumatic experience, so you can begin to heal... I think it would be a good idea to bring him in to sit with you. What do you say?"

Unable to come to a decision, I simply stare at the wall, expression blank. How am I supposed to face him like this? I don't even know who I am - could I ever be anything more than the abused, shattered shell of a girl? I'm lost, and it's killing me inside.

Where is the real me?

"C'mon, buttercup," Nancy encourages, softly. "There's no pressure - whenever you're ready, just let me know. Even just sitting together may do you some good, you don't even have to speak if it makes you uncomfortable."

I exhale shakily and give a slight nod of my head. No talking, I just need to see his face. I need to gaze into those sapphire eyes for a little while.

The raven haired woman smiles brightly, jade orbs glinting. "Good girl, Tris. He'll be over the moon! But remember that you don't have to say or do anything you don't want to, and whenever you want him to leave, we'll escort him out."

As she gathers the neglected books in her arms and makes to leave the room, I hug the Truman Capote novel to my chest, anxiously. My hair is pulled up out of my face into a messy ponytail, exposing every scratch and cut and bruise inflicted onto my skin. I must look awful.

I worry my bottom lip with my teeth and keep my eyes lowered, anxiety riddling my insides. Should I smile? Wave? It's like meeting him for the very first time, the kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach causing total pandemonium.

Things with Tobias have always been so easy - so natural - but something has shifted. I can't help but question whether we could ever get that back. Maybe I truly destroyed us for good.

My tendency to wreck everything that I come into contact with has actively pushed away the one person that I thought could reform me. His kindness and compassion encouraged me to do better, to _be_ better. Everything about him made me fall faster and deeper than I ever thought possible.

I have no family, no home. I'm all alone in a world that cares too little for my existence. Am I going to make it out on my own?

The familiar squeak of combat boots against the polished floor pulls me from my train of thought. I squeeze my eyes shut as his ragged breathing snaps the tightly wound strings of my heart, angling my face away.

"Tris," a broken voice whispers. "Look at me. _Please_."

The desperation in his voice breaks my heart. I've put him through so much, from my cruelty to ignoring his advice about Max, ultimately paying the price. I can only assume the others filled him in about what my abuser did, beating me to the brink of death in front of the entire town. Perhaps he's come to say I told you so.

In a sudden surge of bravery, I lift my head and meet his electric blue eyes. Their intensity sends a shiver along my spine and my fingers tremble. Does he have any idea how much he truly effects me?

My eyes skim over his appearance - messy and neglected curls, dark circles cradling his under eyes. Old and baggy clothes, creased from the hours he has spent slumped in a plastic chair out in the waiting room. He looks troubled and exhausted... because of me.

Tobias cautiously strides over to my bedside, gingerly taking a seat in the comfortable chair. His eyes are glued to my face, wide in horror, fingers trembling. I flinch away as they rise to brush against the stitches in my temple.

"Look what he did to you," he whispers, an unexpected tear streaking down his cheek. "They said your injuries were extensive but.."

Unable to watch him hurting so badly, I flicker my eyes down to his large hands, resting on his knees. The knuckles are red raw, open wounds barely beginning to heal. The skin surrounding his injuries are tinted purple with bruising.

Noticing where my stare is locked, Tobias quickly slips them into the pockets of his sweatshirt, cheeks burning. "It's nothing."

It's definitely _not_ nothing. Either he has gotten into a vicious fist fight or lashed out at something in a great flame of anger. I'm hoping for the latter - he's a lover not a fighter, I don't want him to lose that.

"The nurses tell me that you haven't spoken a word since you arrived," he claims, softly, switching the subject. "That isn't like you. The girl I know would be asking questions as if her life depended on it. What's going on in that curious mind?"

I almost feel like laughing out loud. I have no idea who I am or what I'm supposed to do in this sticky situation. I've lost my identity along the way, slowly succumbing to the pain and torment, and I don't know how to find myself again.

Tobias has made me question everything about who I am; for a long time, I never knew I needed anyone. Maybe that's exactly what I required. I'm constantly looking for a place to call home, but perhaps it's a person I needed all along, not a building.

He reaches out and takes my hand in his, not retreating as I briefly recoil. "Do you remember what you told me at the beach, that night in the waves? You told me that you trusted me. So I need you to trust me when I tell you that you are not alone. Not ever."

My eyes flutter closed and I picture the night in my head - our first kiss in the waves at midnight, the stars twinkling above us. I trusted him then, and I trust him now. I just have to draw on any scraps of courage I have left inside.

"I once told you that no matter how far down shit creek you may go, or how terrible the world may seem, _we_ would be ok. I still want that to be true.. it can be." He tells me, the faint timbre contrasting his palpable determination.

The cherry, hopeful tonality of his voice would usually have me spinning on my own two feet, enchanted. Now it makes me feel numb, paralysed of all hope. Even if he still wanted me, would it be fair to keep hurting him?

As if it couldn't get any worse, he utters three debilitating words, "I-I.. love you."

I lower my head back onto the pillow, sighing quietly. Love is just a poisonous feeling that prays on your vulnerability. You give somebody a piece of you, whether they asked for it or not. It only gives people the chance to mess you up, and they do just that.

"Just.. hear me out on this, ok?" He pleads. "You don't know how to love - when your dad died and your mom turned sour, you were left alone. The people who were supposed to teach you how to love, and how to give love, didn't."

Whatever love I had in my heart dissipated when my father died; a piece of my soul was buried with him, one that I can never get back.

My mom traded maternal instinct for liquor. Mothers are supposed to love their children, but I have been shown cruelty and neglect.

"You've faced horror and assault by the people who are supposed to take care of you," Tobias continues, passionately. "Tris, I know that you think you don't deserve love, that you are doomed to face that kind of treatment forever. But you aren't. _I_ love you, and I would never hurt you like the others. I will show you what love really looks like."

For the past fourteen months, it has been ingrained into my head that all of the horror was _my_ fault. I deserved it, I was asking for it. Love became a fantasy, a fairytale perception. I'm a walking disaster, a waste of space.

He told me I was nothing, and that's exactly what I became.

Images of his fists barrelling down into my small frame through spotted vision comes flashing to the forefront of my mind. The screaming of patrons, somebody faintly calling the police, crying of my friends.

And over all of that, his words were still crystal clear, the last thing I heard before I fell unconscious.

 _You don't deserve to live, you selfish bitch._

 _"_ Tris, you are not crazy or unloveable. You are a survivor. I admire every little thing about you - your courage, your strength, your intelligence. Your beauty. Baby.. you deserve everything you want. You can let go now, you can finally _breathe_."

I let him rule my entire world. But I survived, and it is my chance to reclaim my life. I am strong and in time I can learn to go on with my life. I can do it; I'm brave enough to leave him behind me.

Tobias' hand comes up to softly cradle my cheek, his crystal orbs burning fiercely into my own. "I'm so in love with you. When nothing in my life made sense, you came along with that smile and suddenly.. it all just fell into place. You deserve everything you ever wanted, and I am going to help you get it."

As hard as I try to keep them at bay, tears begin to silently drip down my cheeks as my lip trembles. A steady stream of salty tears cascade down my pale cheeks, releasing all of the sadness and sorrow.

Once his strong arms surround me, the floodgate opens and I let go of my restraint. My nightmare has finally ended, I can breathe again. I sob into his broad chest, hands clutching at the material of his navy sweatshirt.

The bed sinks as he sits, pulling me closer. Tobias holds me in silence, rocking me gently and stroking my hair. Red hot tears streak down the bruised skin, marred from the cruelty of a fist and a size eleven foot.

My heart monitor is going crazy, the fast beats spiralling into oblivion. So overwhelmed with his words and the acceptance of my own truths - I am a survivor, and I will walk away with my head held high. Max cannot break me for good.

Yet the most honest and toughest truth to accept was that I am completely, irrevocably in love with Tobias Eaton. I might not understand it completely, but I know in my heart that this is true love. Only a fool would let it pass by.

As my tears cease, I pull back and wipe my eyes. Large hands cup my shoulders, thumbs running gently along the collarbone that isn't shattered. The azure orbs that are staring right back are like pain killers in themselves.

"I think.. I think I might be in love with you too, wonder boy." I confess, my voice raw and croaky. The words seem comfortable to say; I trust Tobias, he won't hurt me. I can safely admit that I am truly in love with him too.

His shoulders sag with relief and the blue eyes I admire so much become glassy. "Shit, Tris - look at us, we're becoming a pair of softies."

"You've always been a secret softie," I rasp, pushing his shoulder lightly. "However my gentle touch is monumental, to say the least."

"There's my girl," he smiles, reaching over to pick up the of water on my dinner tray, handing it to me. "Drink this - it will help your throat. Your pledge of silence can't have been good on the old vocal chords."

I sip the water in short intervals, wincing as it slips down my throat; it's still fairly sore from where Max's fingers were wrapped around it so tightly. Eating has especially been a challenge.

"I'm sorry about our argument," I eventually tell him, my voice slightly clearer. "I was way out of line - I said some really awful things. You didn't deserve it.. you were trying to protect me. I guess I should have listened."

Tobias shrugs. "Water under the bridge. Besides, I was just as much responsible; I should have supported you. In fact, it should be me apologising to you.."

"What are you talking about?" I inquire, puzzled.

"I made you a promise, and I couldn't keep it," he admits, ducking his head as our fingers interlock. "I swore that I would protect you, that he would never hurt you again. Maybe if I had been there, I could have stopped him.."

"You can't think like that. In fact, I'm glad you weren't there - from the pieces that I can remember, it was pretty nasty. I would never want you to witness something like that. I mean, it was bad enough with the entire town watching."

"Zeke filled in the gaps for me," he explains, retrieving the empty glass from my spare hand and setting it down. "They don't know everything. Just that your mom's boyfriend got drunk and went after you prior to his arrest, followed by your mom-"

"My mom?" I echo, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"After Max realised he was almost definitely going to jail, he decided to turn your mom in too," Tobias divulges. "They turned up at the house and she practically admitted everything on the spot. She's in custody as we speak. They're going up against charges for child abuse, court dates are already being arranged."

I sigh, batting my eyes down to our twined hands. "Do you think.. I should tell them about what Max did to me?"

"Only when you feel ready. There's no pressure to make a statement or talk to anybody about what happened. This all on your terms, nobody is going to make you say or do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

"Sex offenders get longer sentences. I want him put away for as long as possible, I want justice for myself. If speaking out about what he did can make that happen, I want to try." I declare, shakily.

"Honestly, a jail cell sounds a lot more comforting than my house," my boyfriend sighs, running a hand over his face. "Mom is still refusing to acknowledge my existence."

"What happened?"

"I told her that I don't want to be a runner, and that I really long to write. Something came over me and I had the courage to finally stand up to her. Although she's taking it quite badly, it's a relief to have it out in the open."

"Ouch," I click my tongue against my teeth. "Just give her a little time, I'm sure she'll come around. You're still family - she loves you, but she just has to learn to accept who you are."

I feel like I'm on an emotional rollercoaster - how could I feel so paralysed one minute, but on top of the world the next? Tobias has more influence on me than we both thought. Being here with him so casually is pretty therapeutic; I missed him these past few days.

"So.. what happens now?" I ask, my anxiety slowly beginning to resettle and build up in my chest.

"First thing's first, you need to start talking," he tells me, firmly, running his fingers through my ponytail. "I know you're frightened, but the only way they can help you to the best of their ability is if you cooperate."

"It's stupid, but I thought that if I didn't talk maybe it would all just go away. I didn't speak, I refused any and all visitors, all in hopes that somehow I'd just wake up and this would just be a bad dream."

"All I need you to do is talk just a little, while I'm away. I'll be here every day until you get out, but once visiting hours are over, I need you to be strong. Ok?"

"Okay," I whisper, tiredly. "You promise you'll come back?"

"I swear it. Where else am I going to go?" He responds, softly. "Now come on, you need some rest. You look exhausted, Tris."

"Sleep?" I snort. "Not in this place - all of the beeping, crying, constant checkups. I've barely slept twelve hours."

"Maybe I could help with that.." Tobias shrugs, delving into the backpack that rests at his feet. He pulls out a familiar tattered book and my eyes widen.

"Poetry," I smile, softly. "You brought my poetry book. How did you get this?"

"When you got taken into hospital, they told me I couldn't see you - odd visiting hours and such. I couldn't stand the idea of going home, so I spent the night in the treehouse. I took this with me to the hospital the next morning - I hope you don't mind." He admits, sheepishly.

The image of Tobias wrapped up in _my_ blankets in the dead of night, concealed from the rest of the world in _my_ treehouse, appears in my head. Warming my black heart.

"Of course I don't mind," I admonish, shaking my head. "That place is just as much your home as it is mine. You're welcome there whenever you like."

His grin is breathtaking. "You have no idea how much that means to me, baby."

Sharing my safe place with anyone at all always made my stomach churn; it's the one place that I can be myself and stay safe from the cruelty of the world. Tobias is a part of who I am. He belongs there, with all of my most precious things. He is a treasure that I could never take for granted.

"Could you read to me?" I ask, making myself comfortable. Wincing in pain as my broken ribs twinge.

"I thought you'd never ask," he grins, leaning back in the plastic chair and snapping open the book. "Which poem?"

"You choose," I murmur, holding on tightly to his spare hand that is still clasped with mine. "But choose wisely, rookie."

I allow my eyes to flutter closed as he begins to read, the words causing a small, crooked smile to play at my lips. I could listen to him talk forever, the enchanting timbre of his voice calming every nerve.

Recovery is not going to be easy, and the healing process will not be without rocky patches. I will fight and cry and shout. But with Tobias by my side, his loyalty and kindness unwavering, perhaps standing back on my own two feet will be easier now that I am not facing it alone.

"So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow-,"

A sudden agonising pain rips through my abdomen and my mouth opens to let out a scream, but I can't move.

"Glistening with rain water-,"

My whole body has gone into shock, demobilised by the pain. I attempt to thrash around, to yell for Tobias or Nancy, but I remain perfectly still, unable to open my eyes.

"Beside the white chickens."

Tobias' soothing voice is the last thing that I hear before the heart monitor goes flat.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **You didn't think this nightmare was over, did you? I'm sure you all know that I love a few twists. This chapter was both sad and fun to write.**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed, let me know with a review! I will make sure to have an update at some time this week for you!**

 **\- GuiltyMind**


	18. Chapter 18

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 18 {Four's POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

The doctor's hands are steady as they slide the images across the wooden desk, hands that were performing CPR not twenty minutes ago.

I focus my eyes on the glossy pictures - a scan of a pelvis, displaying the damage that has been mercilessly inflicted. It's hard to make out, but I manage to zone in on the affected area.

"After we resuscitated Miss Prior, we got her down to have an emergency scan to locate the problem," the elderly doctor tells me. "It was evident that her hemorrhagic shock was caused by internal bleeding within the pelvis."

The site of injury looks pretty severe, and it doesn't take a doctor to understand that losing so much internal blood can be life threatening. Tris almost _died_ tonight.

"Miss Prior is stable as we speak and under a heavy dosage of anaesthesia - she can't feel a thing - but the risk of her going back into shock is still high," he continues, running a hand through his cropped hair. "We need to act fast. A blood transfusion gives her the best chance of recovery; once the bleeding is under control, we have to replace what was lost."

"So do it - keep her alive. Whatever it takes." I respond, firmly.

"It's not that easy. Miss Prior has a rare blood type - AB positive, to be exact. It's only present in three percent of the US population. We would need a donor, and finding someone at this hour with that specific blood type is almost impossible.."

"How long?" I inquire, quietly, fingers trembling.

"Without the blood transfusion I would give her twenty four hours. Infection spreads quickly, and the longer we postpone, Miss Prior will be put more and more at risk of more shocks and poisoning." He replies, solemnly.

I drop my head in defeat, blinking away the tears; now is not the time to fall apart. Tris is fighting for her life, and I have to be strong for her. I can't give up without a fight. Finding Tris a donor is vital.

Giving my blood is not an option; as far as I know, my blood type is a common O-positive. My blood isn't a match.. but I know who's could be.

"I have a solution," I declare, rising from my chair and scrambling toward the door. "Give me two minutes, Doctor. I think I might know somebody who could give the blood."

Stumbling out into the pristine hallway, I race along the polished floors to the waiting room, skidding around corners and dodging nurses in their scrubs. Time is of the essence.

I rush into the large waiting room and head for the trio huddled in the furthest corner, cradling cheap coffees from the hospital cafeteria and conversing quietly.

"Four," Zeke exclaims, standing to greet me as I make my way over. "What did the doctors say? Is she going to be ok?"

"Listen to me very carefully," I tell him, gripping both of his shoulders with my hands. "Do you remember when we were seven and you swallowed that toy car? When they were running tests they told you and your mom that you had a rare blood type. What was it?"

"I-I don't remember..." Zeke stammers, baffled by my odd question.

"Call mom, she'll know," Uriah chimes in from beside Christina, tossing his cellphone to his confused twin. "Zeke, move your ass. This seems important, hurry!"

He ambles over to the other side of the waiting room, cupping the cellphone to his ear. I pace like a wild animal, running my hands through my hair. Ready to gnaw through bone. If I'm right about this, and Zeke is willing to give blood, Tris has a pretty good chance of surviving.

Just as things were finally falling into place, everything was flipped upside down again. If she doesn't make it, I'm not sure that my heart would be able to withstand such loss. She deserves to have a life.

Zeke returns shortly and hands the cellphone back to his brother before turning to me. "My blood type is AB positive.."

The same as Tris. My best friend has the power to save her life, my girl's fate lies in his hands. What he wants to do with it is all up to him.

"I need to ask you a huge favour," I admit, shakily. "Tris needs blood. You both share a rare blood type, and if she doesn't receive that blood within the next few hours, she could die. I know it's a lot to ask, and I understand if you don't want to do it-"

"I'm in," he interrupts, swiftly. "Tris is my friend too, and I do anything for my friends. If this is going to save her, I'm more than happy to do it. It's not a huge favour to ask - it's the least I could do."

Embracing him quickly, I whisper a thank you into his broad shoulder. Zeke's a loyal friend, and I've always admired that about him. I'm glad that he's taken a liking to Tris, and developed that same unwavering allegiance.

"Come on, I'll take you to the doctor. This is your last chance to back out. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"It's not like I'm giving up one of my kidneys," my best friend scoffs, rolling his eyes and pulling me toward the exit. "I want to do this. I want her to live. She's important to us all, y'know?"

Together, we sprint through the clean hallways, passing bewildered patients and staff alike. There is a spark of hope in my bell, sending warmth through my veins. If this blood transfusion is successful, I could be looking into those stormy eyes once more.

We barrel into the doctors office, barely pausing to knock out of courtesy. He looks up from a stack of paperwork and frowns, puzzled by our rather brazen entrance.

"This is Zeke Pedrad," I tell him, breathless from the urgent racing. "He's agreed to be a blood donor."

Beside me, Zeke gives him a lazy salute and a wide grin. "At your service."

"Your blood type is AB positive, are you certain?" The doctor asks, rising slowly from his seat and eyeing up skeptically. "If there's even a slim chance you aren't, Miss Prior could be severely poisoned by the intermingling blood cells."

"I'm one hundred percent sure. Now are we going to stand around and talk about it, or are you going to take my blood and save a girls life?" He responds, shortly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Very well," the elderly man mutters, jutting out his chin. "Follow me, gentleman. We will see about drawing the blood and performing the transfusion. Just over a pint will be needed."

The doctor - 'David' - leads us along a set of corridors into another area of the hospital. We are ushered into a small room with a central comfy leather chair, where a young woman is fiddling with large needles in the corner.

"Clary, this young man is donating a pint and a half for patient number seven hundred," the doctor tells the fiery haired nurse. "If you could get the paperwork ready and get the blood to my office within twenty minutes, that would be great."

"A'course," Clary replies with a genuine smile, her southern drawl unmissable. "Could I get your name, sugar?"

"Zeke Pedrad - but you can call me your future husband." He replies, cheekily, sauntering forward and out of the doorway.

I shake my head fondly at his shameless antics and follow in after him, taking a seat nearby. I don't think I'll ever be able to truly express my appreciation for this blood transfusion. I'm very much indebted to him.

Clary readies the paperwork and instructs where and what he needs to sign - papers that prove he was eligible and consensual to the blood donation. I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes, the day's obstacles beginning to take their toll.

My mind is buzzing with the energy of a live wire, anxieties and fears bouncing off one another to send me spiralling into a pit of despair and desperation. Tris is all alone in a hospital bed because of this monstrous violence. Max deserves to rot in the fiery pits of hell. I will not rest until justice is served.

Now that her situation has been recognised, things are surely destined to look up. She can be enrolled in therapy, foster placements, support groups for other people going through the same thing. Tris can finally begin to heal, and I get to watch her blossom every step of the way.

Max can't control her life now. His actions and words will have left an imprint on her mind and her soul, but he can't hurt her again. She can move on, leave it all in the past. It won't be easy, but she's a survivor - it's in her bones.

If this blood transfusion fails, all of that potential will die with her. Tris could be anything she wanted to be: an author, a doctor, a lawyer, or even the president of the United States. The sky is the limit. She has to have her chance to shine.

That girl is everything that I have ever wanted - she has the stars in her eyes and the universe trapped in her soul. And I am madly, truly, deeply in love with her. This isn't the end for her, I won't allow it.

Reopening my eyes, I see that Zeke has settled himself into the leather recliner and has a large needle sticking out of his arm, taking the blood and storing it into a bag.

"Are you okay, dude? You look like you're about to throw up.." He asks, watching me through narrowed eyes.

"I'm just stressed," I respond, dropping my gaze to the ground. "And tired. Throw worried on there too. I'm seriously terrified that she won't make it.."

"Your girl is one tough cookie. She'll make it, trust me."

"You weren't there, Zeke. Her heart stopped - she _died_ \- right in front of me, and there was nothing that I could do about it. It all happened in a split second. I lost her back there."

"Do you remember when we were younger and my dad got in that bad car accident?" He asks and I nod, slowly. "You sat with me in the waiting room for hours. You promised that he would be alright, and he was. Now I'm telling you the same thing - Tris is going to make it. She's a badass, something like this won't break her."

"I know you guys have been kept in the dark about what happened with her mom and the boyfriend, but believe me when I tell you she's been to hell and back. She's everything to me, and if she dies.. _fuck_."

"You really love her, don't you?" Zeke claims, softly, watching me with a covert expression.

"More than anything," I admit, running a hand across my face. "I've never felt like this before. It's not just a stupid high school fling, y'know?"

"Don't lose hope, sugar," Clary adds, smiling gently as she adjusts the bag of blood, now almost half way full. "Good always finds a way of conquering evil."

"I'm not draining my blood for nothing, after all." Zeke grins.

"Seriously, I'll find a way to repay you for this," I tell him, genuinely. "I can't thank you enough."

"Don't sweat it - I've never seen you happier than when you're with her. To see you get that back will be more than enough." He replies, sincerely.

"Plus, this is a pretty non-painful procedure. Considering his height to weight ratio, just over a pint isn't going to be much of a loss." The tawny haired nurse chimes in, factually.

Zeke puts a hand on his heart, expression dramatically aghast. "Are you calling me fat? Baby, you break my heart!"

"Shut up," she rolls her eyes, unable to suppress an amused smirk. "Is he always this insufferable?"

I nod, shrugging. "Wouldn't have him any other way, ma'am."

"Now you listen to me, sugar - that girl of yours? She's going to be right as rain, just as soon as we get this blood out of pathology and down to the ICU. I think it's endearing how worried you are for her wellbeing, but don't drive yourself crazy because of it. Let us do our work and she'll be good as new."

"Four, why don't you go stretch your legs, grab a coffee from the cafeteria?" Zeke suggests, before I can respond to the friendly nurse. "This may take a while. I'll meet you back in the waiting room."

Clary nods in agreement. "What a great idea. I promise I'll make sure that as soon as we get the news - good or bad - you are told right away."

They practically usher me out of the room despite my reluctance, ordering me to grab a coffee and take it easy for a few minutes. Since there is nothing to be done but wait for any news, I decide to go along with it.

I reach the navy double doors with their plastic band fastened midway and their dull chrome handles. Pulling my eyes from the highly polished floor, I catch a glimpse of the hallway that stretches beyond.

Without pause I push through with my body weight, but I needn't have; it swings open soundly and with ease. A draft of air hits my face, warm with a tincture of bleach.

Ahead of me lie magnolia walls, decorated with black and white photographs of hospital staff - most likely deceased or rocking their nineties in a retirement home. The hallway is wide and spacious, a friendly and comfortable feeling.

Every few seconds I pass a different set of doors, equipped with their own hand sanitiser dispensers, leading to different wards and units: to oncology, geriatrics, to maternity or psychiatry. I bypass them in search of the cafeteria.

Upon locating the modernised coffee machine, I insert my change and get myself a vanilla latte. The idea of a caffeine boost making my mouth water; after three sleepless nights, a coffee is exactly what I need.

In the waiting room, Christina sits upright in her seat, staring into space. Uriah is slumped beside her, head lolling onto her shoulder as he sleeps, mouth hung open. Their empty coffee cups neglected at their feet.

"I was banished to the waiting room," I tell her as I take the seat opposite. "Zeke's still giving blood. They figured I should take a rest out here.. seems like Uriah has the same idea."

"Stop keeping us in the dark, Four. Why is Zeke giving blood? Is Tris going to be alright? It's killing me to sit here knowing that my best friend could be dying somewhere in this hellhole." The feisty Latina growls, her dark eyes narrowed into angry slits.

I sigh, resting my elbows on my knees as I lean forward. "Tris has an unforeseen complication with a wound on her pelvis. She went into some kind of shock because of the internal bleeding, ultimately stopping her heart. She's alive and they're stopping the bleeding, but the blood needs to be replaced. _Quickly_."

"So why is Zeke back there giving the doctors his blood?" Christina questions, curiously.

"The blood transfusion could only be done if they could locate enough blood to give her - and because of her rare blood type, they didn't have any on hand but-"

"But Zeke is a match," she finishes, lamely. "God, what a fucking mess. She has to live.. she just has to."

"It's out of our hands. Now we just have to wait and hope that the blood transfusion is successful." I answer, raising my coffee to my chapped lips and taking a long sip.

The brunette sighs, despondently. "This is all my fault. I could have prevented this - I could've done _something_."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"That man that attacked Tris - her mom's boyfriend.. he was abusing her, wasn't he?" She claims, brashly, chin jutted out as her eyes pierce through mine.

I flounder, mouth opening to protest. Should I lie? How the hell does she know?

"The idea was always chewing away at the back of my mind, but I kept it to myself like a complete idiot. I saw the bruises - I was styling her hair and there were finger marks on the back of her neck. But I stayed silent. She hobbled around everywhere like she was in pain, flinched when people touched her. I _knew_. Then I saw the black eye and it all clicked. Maybe if I had said something..."

I shake my head. "It wasn't your fault; in any case, it wasn't your business. I didn't say anything either. I just cleaned her bruises and kept my word to keep them a secret. Tris isn't holding a grudge against me, so she won't hold one against you either."

"Fuck, this whole thing is so messed up. Seeing the way her mom acted, how terrifying the boyfriend was, I have no idea how she coped. How didn't we notice before? She might not blame me, but _I_ do." Christina tells me, quietly.

"She devoted herself to hiding it - covering the bruises, becoming cold to push away anybody that could discover her secret. There's nobody to blame but _them_. You can't blame yourself, how could you have known?"

"We let her down," she shakes her head, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. "This whole town. She suffered in silence, hiding her bruises, while we just carried on with our lives, worrying about something as silly as boy trouble. I can't imagine how alone she must've felt."

"Nothing bad was ever supposed to happen here - the safe, lovely town of Newport - but it did. And unfortunately, it had to be at the expense of a good hearted girl, poisoned by the abuse."

"I knew something was wrong, way before we even became friends," Christina confesses, tearfully. "She argued with the gym teacher because she didn't want to change. I figured maybe she was harming herself and got worried - I told the school therapist who investigated but nothing came of it. I should've asked her myself."

"So many people suffer from abuse and suffer it alone. Tris did everything she could to keep it a secret. There's nothing you or I could have done to force it out of her."

"You're good for her, you know," she shrugs, nudging my foot with her own. "She's crazy about you, and I know you're just as head over heels. You saved her - not just from Max but from herself. Without you, she could have met a much worse end a long time ago."

I look down at my hands, a warm feeling sprouting in my chest. "I'd say we saved each other. But I couldn't protect her when it came down to it - I let her down."

"Tris doesn't need to be protected," the brunette points out, gently. "She just needs somebody to support her, which you are doing with no faults. You have nothing to feel guilty about, and you _haven't_ let her down."

"You know, you're not so bad, Kravitz," I smirk. "I can see why my girl is so fond of you."

"She's my soul mate. Before her, I never felt like I really belonged. Sure, I had a bunch of good friends and a place to sit at lunch, but something was always missing. Then we stumbled upon Tris and it fell into place. I can tell her things that I never thought I would dare to say out loud. We haven't known each other for very long but I love that girl.. she's my best friend."

"Tris changes people's lives without even knowing it," I shrug, proudly. "She's unaware of just how awesome she really is. Without her, I'd still be the mindless and voiceless robot my mother created."

Christina sighs, resting her head atop of a sleeping Uriah's. "She won't die, she's way too important. Add on the fact that she is stubborn as fuck - if she doesn't want to go, she won't."

"Do you ever wish you could rewind time? Do things differently?"

"Sometimes," she ponders it for a second. "But wishing you could change the past doesn't change the present, it only makes you unhappy. This is how it is, so we have to deal with it. We can't turn back time, but we can change today so we don't have those regrets in months to come."

Every morning, we get the chance to be different and start fresh. A chance to change. A chance to be better, to do better. Revisiting the past doesn't change what's right in front of you.

I can't go back and shield Tris from the evil, but I can step up and be a man today. I can support and comfort her in the present; we can make it right again. We just need the chance.

A hand suddenly lands on my head and begins to ruffle my hair, accompanied by the guffaws of my best friend. I push away Zeke's hand and he flops down into the seat next to mine.

"I have returned," he announces, dramatically, extending a leg to kick his brother in the shin. Uriah startles awake, groaning. "And my little brother has risen from the dead-"

Christina cuts him off by throwing her shoe at his head, glowering. "I know you may be a little disorientated from losing blood, but did you donate your brain cells too? Try and be a little sensitive!"

"Sorry," he responds, sheepishly. "I wasn't thinking. Here, have a lollipop as a piece offering."

Uriah recoils as Zeke launches a wrapped lollipop his way, similarly tossing another to myself and Christina before unwrapping his own. He pops it into his mouth with a pleased smile.

"Are these sanitary?" Christina asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Mm, strawberry." Uriah hums around his lollipop, grinning back at his twin.

"Did everything go smoothly with the blood?" I ask, anxiously. "No complications, right?"

Zeke shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. "Everything's fine - Clary had it off to the ICU before I even had the chance to stand up. The type is a match and all is well. Now we wait, I guess."

The four of us sit in a stoney silence for the next fifty minutes. Watching the people enter and exit the waiting room routinely, jumping whenever a doctor strolls in. I guess no news is better than bad news.

I shut my eyes and chant a prayer in my head - begging for her survival, for the transfusion to work and save her life. I don't know if anybody is listening, but it's almost comforting to distract myself with the prayer.

An awful hollowness, the waves of wretchedness threatens to engulf my mind, body and soul. My heart is as barren as the moors on a desolate winter morning. Without Tris, any joy in my life will be buried with her. She owns my whole heart, and will continue to own it into death.

To distract myself from the negativity, I think back to all of our best memories - my most precious being our first kiss in the waves at night, chest to chest as we laid our cards on the table. The salty taste of her lips, waves crashing gently into my side as I held her against me.

Our memories may not be entirely vast, but they are just as special. Admitting we loved each other, napping and reading poetry in her treehouse, raising one another up after being kicked down. I will never get enough of her smart, challenging mouth.

"Four Eaton?" A voice calls out and I snap open my eyes, twisting my head to spot David at the entrance to the waiting room.

"Over here, doctor," I rise from my seat, making my presence known. "Please tell me this is good news."

The doctor makes his way over to us, cradling a clipboard close to his chest. "You may want to be sitting down for this, young man.."

"It didn't work, did it?" Christina whimpers, clapping a hand over her mouth as her dark eyes cloud with unshed tears.

"On the contrary, miss, the procedure went smoothly and not only is the blood restored, we have stopped the internal bleeding. Miss Prior will rest in the ICU for the night before being transferred back to a private room for the rest of her stay." He tells us, a genuine smile on his lips.

"Hell yeah!" Zeke whoops, punching the air with his fist in glee. "That's our girl!"

The others get up to embrace one another, laughing and chatting excitedly. I seem to be stuck in my seat, a tear sliding down my cheek, frightened that this is all a dream.

David sits in the vacant chair beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Your... _friend_ , is a fighter. She should have died from that shock, but she fought to stay alive. That young woman is a survivor, through and through."

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Thank you so much, Doctor."

Christina pulls me to my feet and hugs me tightly, crying happy tears into my shoulder. Zeke wraps his arm around Uriah and we stand there, grinning like idiots. Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude.

Tris is a survivor, a fighter, a warrior. She fought to stay alive, to stay with us. With _me_. By some good grace, she has been awarded the chance to begin again. The chance to heal. And she's going to kick ass in recovery.

Most importantly, Tris is _alive_. My girl is going to make it.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **You didn't seriously think I could kill off my girl Tris, did you? I know you guys have been eagerly awaiting this chapter so I hope I pleased you, and I'm so sorry for scaring you too!**

 **Im not a med student, nor am I a doctor, so if any procedures or terminology are wrong, just know that I'm no expert!**

 **I had a lot of fun exploring the friendships within this chapter, the four coming together all with the same fears and anxieties, praying for Tris to survive. Next chapter, we will see the rest of the gang and their responses to her attack and hospitalisation.**

 **Leave a review and let me know what you thought!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 19 {Tris' POV}**

 **~three weeks later~**

 **-o-o-o-**

I tilt my head upward, setting my sights on the sky above. Watching as the sun begins to sink below the rooftops, its mesmerising colours spilling across the horizon.

The scarlet container is heavy in my trembling hand, pale fingers closed around the handle with an iron grip. My breath respirates slowly, an odd combination of excitement and dread swirling around in a cloud of invisible smoke, deep within my mind.

Confidently, I lower my eyes back down to solid ground, zoning in closely on my target. The old leather shining obnoxiously in the dying light, my stomach wrenching at the sight.

With careful precision - making sure to take my sweet time - I unscrew the cap of the plastic container in my right hand, taking a painful step closer to the armchair. I don't hesitate to douse the leather in gasoline, jaw tight as I splash the stifling petrol across the dark throne.

I toss the empty container aside, backing away as I reach into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, pulling out my overused lighter. My ribs scream with the effort of standing with no support, each unhealed wound protesting against my act of defiance.

The fleeting moment of complete stillness is ruined by the clear sound of the lighter sparking to life, a small flame promising the desired retribution. Waiting impatiently to fulfil its duty.

Without a second thought, I toss the lighter toward the armchair, watching with delight as it goes up in flames. Reacting with the gasoline in a catastrophic and beautiful act of ignition.

I watch the fire as if it can burn up my inner rage, as if my frustrations and my anger are the fuels. The heat dries my skin, scorching, ordering a few steps backward, but I don't move. I watch, eyes wide open, posture square to the flames. Here I will stay until the glowing embers die.

Fire is the greatest weapon of them all. It shines with all its glory; maybe that's why I'm so drawn to it? The warmth from afar is beyond welcoming, but it snarls and bites the moment you dare to approach. A deviance of appearance, a reflection of myself.

If I had it my way, it would be Max that was to suffer the vengeance and greed of the blaze - tied to a post and set alight, a satisfying retribution. I want to hurt him, the way he hurt me. I am thirsty for revenge, for bloodshed.

The sky above becomes riddled with thunderclouds, a storm beginning to brew. Soon enough, the rain will fall and wash away the ash and dust, eradicating the last pieces of him for good.

Reaching into the pocket of Tobias' denim jacket, I hesitantly retrieve the crumpled photograph. I stare down at the beaming faces with a roaring hatred, narrowing my eyes at the drunken grins and loose grips on their wine glasses. The Christmas tree glinting ironically in the background.

Christmas Day - my mom and Max had a round of their alcoholic, drug-abusing friends over. Only a half hour after their arrival, I was knocked out cold on the bathroom floor. Left for dead, bruises around my neck and a weak pulse. While I was unconscious upstairs, they were drinking away their demons and laughing with their toxic companions.

 _Those fuckers left me for dead, over and over again_.

As kids, we are always taught that forgiveness is the best approach to solve a conflict. To forgive is to forget, and to forget is to be happy. We should forgive others and forgive ourselves. However, the purgation of hostility has always been a hard pill for me to swallow; covertly plotting revenge is a lot more fun.

Perhaps the only way to leave the past behind me is to forgive those who wronged me. Accepting their actions, their motives, in hopes that it could bring me closure. A sense of clarity that I have been missing.

I laugh bitterly to myself, deciding against the compassionate approach as I toss the photograph into the fire. I watch as it sets alight and mutter, "Kiss my ass, mother fuckers."

They don't deserve my kindness, my understanding. In all honesty, I'm not at peace with my inner angel. I'm _mad_ , I'm furious. I want to set the world on fire and watch everybody burn, to watch _them_ burn. They deserve to live with their mistakes, never to be absolved of responsibility - this is on them, not me.

As the sun sets below the rooftops and dusk comes into play, the fire begins to ebb, unable to find anything more to devour. The armchair spent and burnt to its maximum potential, the photograph nothing more than a pile of ash. Drowning in flames.

I settle my hands against my stinging cheeks, hoping to draw away some of the heat. I'm sure I'll have a reddish glow to my skin for the next few hours, but it doesn't bother me as much as it should. The heat is almost refreshing, a welcomed discomfort.

Maybe now is the time that I can begin to write my own story - start from scratch, decide my own destiny... forget all of the past. I don't have to accept what happened to me, but I _can_ move on from it. I have to; for the sake of existing in a place that isn't plagued with darkness.

Feet safe, roots starting to grow. Little buds of hope forming as I slowly attempt to trust this new life. Praying to the gods above that the world is not pulled out from under me again. I want to stay here, living alone, with a supportive bunch of friends nearby and a boy with heaven in his heart on speed dial.

This is my life now - this small piece of the universe, filled with sorrow and wrath. But maybe it doesn't always have to be that way. In years to come, maybe the scars will mean something different than what they mean now; scars show us where we have been, what we have gone through, and that can never be shameful.

Heaving a sigh, I burrow deeper into the thick and warm material of Tobias's dark denim jacket. Inhaling the signature scent of wind and cologne, metal and firewood.

I never realised that something as trivial as a _jacket_ could become so important to me - it tethers me to solid ground, the comfort it provides also asserting a sense of stability.

It's not often that I need to gather myself with just a jacket, seeing as the owner is practically attached to my hip. Sleeping beside me to chase away the nightmares, helping to scrub the countertops in miserable heat, ordering pizzas to eat in my barren bedroom. Tobias carries my heart, he is family. The only family I have. I'm still not sure how I managed to keep him around.

When he's next to me, I don't feel so afraid. I'm not angry. I'm not alone. I'm _whole_.

The sudden surge of endearment prompts me to pull out my phone in a haste, cradling it to my ear as it rings out. I chew on my lip anxiously as I stand before the fire, waiting for him to pick up.

"What's up, short stack?" Tobias' playful voice drawls, shooting electricity through my veins. "Need me to come over and bleach a few more surfaces? Or are we moving onto dusting this evening?"

I chortle, hiding my face in my sleeve, though I know he can't see me. "You and I both know that cleaning is not on the agenda tonight - I'm not sure we can worm our way out of it this time."

"A guy can dream," he adds, mockingly, but his tone softens as he continues. "Are you ok, Tris? Do I dare to question your motives behind this spontaneous phone call?"

I reach toward the fire, the heat scalding my fingertips, but I hold them in place. "Do I have to have a motive? Can't I just call to say hi?"

"Alas, I was under the presumption that we would be exchanging physical greetings face-to-face in.. well, just under an hour."

"I missed you," I whisper, feeling nauseous at my own words; when did I become such a loser? "I know, I know - I'm totally lame. We've barely been apart for two days, I'm just being silly. I just... I needed to hear your voice."

"That's not lame at all," he assures me, gently. "I feel the same way. I barely slept at all last night, it felt weird not being with you, y'know?"

I sigh, drawing my hand away from the flames. "I love you."

My heart swells as I hear him exhale contently on his end of the line. "I love you too."

And in this moment, I swear that nothing in the universe can compare to the heaviness of missing a loved one. It's like we are just two seventeen-year-olds talking like teenagers do when they are hopelessly in love. Giggling and whispering over the phone, as if it has been that way all along.

"Tris, are you sure you're okay?" Tobias worries, the concern palpable in his tone. "You're acting kind of strange.. is everything alright?"

Staring into the dying fire, the flames beginning to lose their power, I smile slightly. "Everything's fine.. I'm just _thinking_ , is all. Thinking about everything. I don't know, all of these bad things started happening in my head.. and well, you always seem to ground me. I just needed to hear your voice, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologise," he reprimands, lightly. "Whenever you need me, all you have to do is call. No matter the time of day, you already know that, right?"

"Right. I just.. things got a little overwhelming for a moment. I kind of worked on autopilot and called you."

"I'm glad you did."

"So.. you aren't mad?" I ask, hesitantly, ducking my head and bracing myself for a string of curses, his angry voice rumbling into my ear. Promising chaos and bruises-

"Baby, why would you think that?" The blue-eyed boy asks, incredulously, but his tone remains silky smooth and kind. _He isn't Max_. "Are you sure you don't want me to come over and pick you up? We could skip Zeke's and just order takeout.."

"Don't be silly - Christina will be here soon and I'll see you there, alright? I'll be okay, seriously. I'm just feeling a little off today but I'm sure I'll be as right as rain. Forget I ever said anything."

"I hate it when you're hurting." He whispers, sounding a little choked up. I ignore the crack in his voice, realising that picking him up on it would be unfair; he detests getting so upset, I don't want to encourage it anymore.

Swallowing hard, I deflect the idea to deny the claim; he can see right through my tough-girl act, it would be useless. "I'll see you soon, ok?"

He hums in response, appearing to concede to his own paranoia. "Make sure Christina drives slow; she only got her permit recently, and your ribs can't take much rough driving. Remember what the doctors said?"

"Easy, lieutenant overkill," I tease, attempting to lift the mood and distract myself from the lump in my throat. "I promise we'll go at least five under the limit. Just chill out, have a drink, loosen your reigns. I'll be just fine, wonder boy."

"Yes ma'am," he bites back. I hear a scuffle in the background, an uptight voice calling his name - his mom. "I've got to go, it seems it's time for my daily lecture about how much of a disappointment I am. I'll see you in a half hour, ok?"

"Right, for a fun night of pizza and video games, I can hardly wait," I respond, sarcastically, my voice becoming gentle as I add, "Tobias.. you're no disappointment to me."

"I love you, see you soon." He simpers, endearingly, before hanging up.

Sighing, I pocket my cellphone and begin to assist the burn-out process. Tossing dirt into the fire to dull the flames, using a water bottle to douse the heat. Attempting to work swiftly knowing that Christina will make her dramatic arrival any minute now.

I rerun the conversation between Tobias and I in my head, guilt and irritation swirling in my system; I need to stop associating him with Max. He _isn't_ like Max. Tobias would never raise a hand to me, he would never lock me away in the dark or strangle me to the brink of death.

No matter how adjusted I am to our relationship, I can't help but flinch when he touches me unexpectedly. Or when he raises his voice. I apologise too much, hesitate more than I should. I want to be open with him, I want to lean into his touch when he hugs me from behind. I just don't see it ever happening... will I ever get used to it?

My body doesn't seem to be in cahoots with my brain - while his touch sometimes frightens me, I can't stop imagining what it would be like if we continued past our heated make out sessions. I long for his touch, his hands, his mouth. My heart is invested into him, but my head is riddled with anxiety.

It doesn't help that he practically oozes sex appeal. There are times when I want to keep him as far away as possible, but there are also occasions where I want to jump his bones and let him have his wicked way with me.

I can't let Max hold me back from something I want, I need to be brave and face my fears. Otherwise I'll spend my entire life miserable.

After fifteen minutes, the large fire has smouldered and all that remains are ashes gathered together in a pile. I decide to clean up the yard tomorrow at first light; it's simply too dark and too late for me to do much about it now.

This 'independent living scheme' introduced by my social workers definitely has its upsides - privacy, freedom, my own space to just be myself. But it also has its downsides: being left alone to fend for myself, with only one weekly checkup by a social worker, leaves me with the responsibility of housekeeping, making sure everything is locked up and safe at night. Responsibilities that normal teenagers don't usually have to take on.

Then again, the downsides are worth it; anything is better than staying at that proposed group home, over 100 miles away from my friends. Hell, I would choose to live on the streets over an orphanage-based group home.

Living in their house has been difficult, the memories almost too strong and painful to bear, but once I was released from the hospital, Tobias and I spent a whole four day scrubbing the house from top to bottom. Cleansing and purifying every surface and corner of their malice. We stripped my bedroom of the old posters, trinkets and rosy bedsheets. A desolate and empty bedroom is better than one filled with memories I am desperate to forget.

I turn away from what was once a raging fire and head inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. I barely have the time to hobble upstairs to change into one of Tobias' navy sweatshirts - drowning me in fabric - before there is a single tap at the front door.

Just as I reach the foot of the staircase, the door swings open and Christina stumbles into the hallway. I instinctively do a double take as I survey her appearance; gone is her glamorous fashion choices, replaced with an old lilac hoodie and sweatpants. Her hair is slightly tangled and her face is void of makeup completely.

I grab my crutches and follow her tired steps into the living room. She collapses face first onto the couch, moaning softly into the pillow. A bottle of alcohol is clutched in her hand, thankfully mostly full to the cap.

"Christina, hey," I greet, softly and slowly, knowing that I should exercise caution. I limp toward the couch and sit cross legged on the carpet, looking up at her. "What's going on?"

The forlorn brunette sniffs despondently and hesitantly lifts her head to look at me. "I feel _weird_.. different. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore, all because of those damned green eyes."

I frown, her words not exactly making any sense. "Do you want to talk about it? I'm a good listener, you know."

She seems to consider it for a moment before nodding along, pulling herself up to sit straight, drawing her knees into her chest. "I'm a mess, Tris. God, what's happening to me?"

"Why don't you start from the beginning," I encourage, reaching up to hold her hand. "Take your time, alright?"

"Margo called me the night you got out of hospital." She admits, shakily.

 _Margo_? "Margo as in Margo King? Captain of the debate team?"

Christina gives me the nod of confirmation. "It was _her_ _-_ my summer fling _._ I told you about her, remember? How I was totally head over heels but she didn't feel the same."

I attempt to picture the two together, coming to a conclusion that they would make a pretty cute couple. Margo King is a red headed bombshell, top of her classes with a no-nonsense disposition.

We never clicked exactly, with me being intellectually inferior and all. She always just seemed a little haughty, contrasting with Christina's genuine kindness.

"She called me and asked if I wanted to meet for a milkshake sometime, to discuss another secret arrangement. She wanted to sneak around and hook up, no strings attached. I _loved_ her, y'know? Turning her down was hell-"

"You turned her down?" I ask, eyebrows raised. I had expected her to jump at the opportunity, considering how enamoured she was with Margo.

"I had to," she shakes her head. "She didn't want _me_ \- the real me - she just wanted a little excitement before school starts back up. I knew she would just drop me the moment we walked into our first day of senior year. I couldn't put myself through that again. I'm not ashamed of who I am or how I feel, and I don't want to be around anybody who is."

"Then what happened?" I ask, curiously, certain that there is more to this tale of heartbreak.

Christina ducks her head, averting her eyes bashfully. "I-I realised that my reasoning for telling Margo to shove it went beyond just self preservation. I like somebody else.. you know, _really_ like them."

"Will." I state, knowingly. A small smile pulling at my lips, incredibly happy for my two friends.

"Those stupid green eyes finally got to me," she groans, hiding her face in her manicured hands. "He's just so sweet. So genuine. Will really listens to me, respects what I have to say. To him, I'm not just a heartless tease.. I'm a real person. Somebody worth talking to. I've never felt like this, not even with Margo. This is different."

Grinning, I squeeze her hand. "Chris, this is amazing news. You deserve somebody like Will, you deserve to be swept off your feet just as much as the rest of us."

"He can _never_ know," she snaps, coldly, casting me a dark look. "I don't do feelings. I do unattached hookups, moving on before I get in too deep. Maybe he won't accept that I like boys _and_ girls. I don't want to get hurt, but I also don't want to hurt him."

"Do you remember what you told me, back in the cafe?" I ask and she frowns, shrugging. "You said that I shouldn't let something pass by that could make me happy, that could change me for the better. You said that one summer could change everything - I figure it's about time that you take your own advice."

"I'm just afraid that I'll make a mess of things. This isn't like me at all, I have no idea how to handle real feelings. I know that I act confident and all, but w-what if I'm not good enough for a relationship?"

"You listen to me," I tell her, sternly. "You _are_ good enough. You're so much more than just a pretty face - you're loyal, supportive, brave and kind. Any boy _or_ girl would be lucky to have you. I understand how it feels, but the only person you have to be good enough for is _yourself_. Fuck everybody else."

A tear drips down her cheek as her hickory brown eyes cloud over with emotion. "I really like him. I don't want to push him away because I'm too fucking afraid. Will makes me happy."

"So tell him that," I coax her, earnestly. "Don't let fear get in the way of that happiness."

"You're right," she laughs through her tears, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. "Shit, that was hard to admit. I've had a tough couple of days - I've pretty much ignored all of Will's calls and received a dozen spiteful messages from Margo-"

"Spiteful messages?" I growl, narrowing my eyes. "Like what? Do I need to have a little chat with her? I have a pair of brass knuckles hidden under my bed..."

Christina throws her head back with a laugh. "Oh, Tris, you're _tiny_. But I'll make sure to have you on speed dial as my willing attack dog. You're too cute to get in a fight, besides your ugly crutches are hardly intimidating."

 _There's my best friend_.

"I'll have you know that I'm very scary," I insist, stubbornly, cracking a silly smile. "I singlehandedly drove three teachers to early retirement and abrupt resignations within two months. I'm _lethal_."

"Right, and where did you learn these lethal methods of intimidation?" She flings back, unscrewing the cap of her peach schnapps bottle.

"First rule of fight club: you do not talk about fight club," I joke, watching as she goes to take a drink from the bottle. I snatch it from her hand. "You're supposed to be driving, remember? I want to show up to Zeke's with all of my limbs securely attached, at least."

She groans, running a hand through her dark locks. "How am I supposed to turn up like _this_? Gosh, I look as if I've been hit like a freight train. And you're not dressed either!"

Looking down at my plain pants and masculine-smelling sweatshirt, I frown. "I _am_ dressed. We're heading to Zeke and Uriah's place to order pizza and play video games in the basement. I'm not going to wear something uncomfortable."

"Fine," she relents, rolling her eyes, sitting upright and alert as if her mini meltdown didn't really happen. "But _I_ need to change. Do you mind if I borrow something of yours? I'm sure I could make an.. _urban_ look out of your stuff."

"Urban?" I scoff as the brunette helps me to stand, securing my crutches to lend me the support. "There is nothing wrong with my clothes! Just because they aren't frilly or pink."

The fiery brunette simply casts me a covert glance. "Tris, they are all _black_. Don't get me wrong, black goes with everything, but it's just so plain. Black skinny pants, Four's dark denim jacket, black sneakers and shirts. The most colourful thing I've seen you wear is white."

"I _like_ black." I grumble, limping alongside her.

"Ok, Wednesday Addams," she concedes, giggling. "Let's see what I can do; it's time to work some couture magic."

Once safely inside of my empty bedroom, I sit down on the bed, running my fingertips along the new violet sheets. Watching on as Christina picks through my tiny closet, seeking out a suitable shirt and pair of pants to replace her hoodie and sweats.

"This is super cute," she exclaims, pulling out a deep purple camisole that was stashed at the back of my closet, too big to fit my shrinking frame. "Oh, and with these skinny jeans. Not too bad, Tris."

"Keep them. They don't fit anyway - besides, I think they are much more your speed."

Christina frowns, beginning to undress shamelessly before me. "If they are too small for you then they are _definitely_ too small for me."

I squirm, nervously. "They're too big. I-er, well, I guess I lost a lot of weight once Max moved in. There was never much food in the refrigerator - alcohol became more of a priority - so I didn't eat much at all."

Her face softens considerably and she strides across the bedroom to kiss the crown of my head. "Those _assholes_. You never have to go hungry again, I can promise you that much."

I duck my head, playing with my fingers. In all honesty, not eating was a lot nicer than the family dinners. Max would leer at me from across the table, making sure I ate every morsel. If I left even a little, he would force it down my throat until I swallowed. Mom would just watch and laugh, pretending it was all a game.

Assholes indeed.

"You really think that Four would let me skip a meal?" I joke as she begins to change. "He went as far as to cook for us both. It was the best toast and peanut butter that I've ever eaten."

She chuckles, shaking her head slightly. "That boy would do anything for you, you know that, right? When you were sick, he was beside himself with worry. I thought the doctors were going to have to kick him out of the waiting room with all the noise he was making."

I smile softly, touched by his concern. Though sometimes it can be overbearing, I know his heart is in the right place; I guess I'm just not used to being looked after, being cared for. I'm still adjusting to the foreign feeling.

"He told me he loved me," I admit, quietly. "And.. after I blew my top and nearly ruined everything, I told him I loved him back."

The once distressed brunette stares at me in surprise, eyes wide. "And I'm only hearing about this _now_? Tris, that's huge!"

"I wasn't sure at first; I barely understood what love meant. But then I almost lost him, Max almost got what he wanted. Almost losing him made me realise how much he really means to me. I never thought I'd say it to anybody, but I suppose he got the best of me, after all."

"So, have you guys ever.." she trails off, suggestively. "Y'know, given the dog the bone?"

Catching on to her euphemism, I flush scarlet and laugh nervously. "Christina! You can't just casually ask me that kind of stuff.. it's-it's private!"

"Oh, come on," she giggles, pulling up her pants. "Girls talk about it, it's normal. Size, positions, _location_. So tell me, have you gotten busy yet?"

I shake my head, reluctantly. "No, we haven't _gotten busy_. It's not that easy for us, there's things we have to.. consider. Look, it's private, alright?"

Slowly her face drops and she wanders over to sit beside me on the bed spread, now fully dressed. "What kind of things? Like.. is he too big? Too small? I mean, you live alone now, it's hard to believe that you haven't jumped his bones already-"

"I'm _scared_ ," I interrupt, my voice raised a little. My shoulders slump, helplessly. "I know it might sound stupid to you, but there are things holding me back that you just won't understand. Mom always told me that my body was mine, and Max-"

" _Max_ ," she cuts me off, coldly. Her body rigid beside mine. "I hate how scared you sound when you say his name. Tris.. he didn't - you know, _touch you_ , did he?"

Instinct kicks in and a lie forms in my mouth, denying it, shielding the dirty secret away from my best friend. I hesitate; it wasn't my fault, I shouldn't be ashamed of what transpired. I can't change it, but I can be honest about it. I'm done with the constant lies.

Taking my silence as an answer, she lifts a trembling hand to cover her mouth. "I'm going to kill him. Oh, Tris.."

"Don't," I reply, smoothly. My fingers curling into the sheets. " _Don't_ feel sorry for me. I can't change what he did, and I also don't want to give him the satisfaction of talking about it. He did it to torture me, to scar me for the rest of my life - I can't let him win like that."

She drops her hand and lets her arms wind around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. "Why didn't you tell me? I'm your best friend - you can tell me anything, you know that."

"It doesn't matter now; as soon as I take the stand in court in a few days time, he'll be locked up. He can't reach me now. I just have to work through my fear, that's all that is left of him."

"Does Four know?" Christina whispers after a beat of silence, her hand stroking my hair idly. "You told him, right? _Please_ tell me that you did."

Nodding, I tell her, "He's known for a while now. I figured that he deserved to know, he's been so good to me. I had to confide in Four."

"When Max..." she trails off, uncertainly. "Did he go all the way? Did he.. r-rape you?"

"No," I respond, honestly. "He never took it that far. He almost did - I saw it in his eyes - but my mom broke something downstairs and he went to yell at her instead. I locked myself in the bathroom until morning, then I just went straight to school."

"Never be ashamed of your story, Tris, it will inspire others. Sexual abuse may be what you have experienced, but it is _not_ who you are. Don't let it hold you back, the world is yours for the taking."

I want to be brave, I want to take on the world. Perhaps courage isn't being fearless, it's overcoming something despite the fear. I want Tobias, I want to explore and try new things. It's time to follow my heart and give my head a rest break. I _am_ brave.

Realising my discomfort, Christina decides to abandon the conversation and lift the mood, much to my appreciation. "Come along, soldier, there's a pepperoni pizza and a bottle of something strong with my name on it."

I grin despite myself, taking her extended hand. I'm glad that I admitted my secret, that she responded in a way that inspired rather than upset me. Relief riddles my insides.

I'm on the edge of something wonderful, and I'm ready to face the world.

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the long wait, I've been super busy and had a touch of writers block. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.**

 **The next chapter will be the entire gang at Zeke and Uriah's house, but of course nothing can go as smoothly as they would hope. Expect some fluff, secrets being exposed, angst and a deadly storm.**

 **Drop a review and let me know what you thought to this chapter, and how Tris confessed the truth about her sexual abuse. That will be further explored in the upcoming chapter where Tris will take the stand in court.**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Chapter 20 {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

Laughter bubbles in my throat and I snort against the rim of my mug, looking down at the array of photographs scattered on the counter before me.

I pick up a small Polaroid featuring two toddlers sharing a bubblebath, surveying the familiar set of mischievous smiles and caramel skin tones. Both are grinning directly at the camera, fussing over a rubber duck.

"That's Uriah, right?" I ask, pointing to the little boy on the right. A crown of bubbles forming on his head as he attempts to snatch the bright yellow toy from his brother.

Hanna leans over to double check, wiping down her hands on her floral printed apron. "It isn't hard to distinguish the two. Uriah was always the bigger goofball of the two - constantly covered in mud, bubbles or food."

"Have they always been so..."

"Troublesome?" She finishes with a laugh, her dark eyes flashing with amusement. "Their dynamic duo act has never ceased. I thought they would grow out of their tricks eventually, but that day is yet to come. I doubt they will ever tire of pulling pranks, it's ingrained into their DNA."

I watch as Hanna begins to roll out her cookie dough, a dusting of flour on her smooth cheek. Her casual attire and overall demeanour eases my anxieties, relaxing me. From the embroidered blouse to the soft slippers, she practically glows with kindness and genuine motherly instinct.

Her confidence suggests that she bakes for her sons often, providing them with delicious treats regularly. A clean stack of clothes are folded in the laundry basket nearby and the surfaces are pristine. Hanna does everything that my mom didn't do. I would be lying if I said it didn't make me a little envious.

Lying in bed at night, I hoped and prayed for this kind of life. A stable home, a loving mother to guide me. Safety, care, protection. An escape from my own miserable and dangerous existence.

Shaking off the longing that claws at my throat, I pick up another photograph - their first day of kindergarten. Uriah stares at the camera with a toothless grin, clutching his book bag excitedly. Zeke, on the other hand, has his arms crossed furiously as he glares at the ground. A startling contrast between the two boys, usually so similar in behaviour.

I can't help but notice that their father is never present in these childhood pictures. My curiosity spikes but I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. I can only wonder what happened to him - did he die, like my father? Or did he leave on his own selfish accord? In any case, it isn't my business.

"I think I would've liked to grow up with a sibling," I muse, out loud. "Being an only child was kind of lonely. I never really had anybody to talk to. Zeke and Uriah are lucky they have each other."

Growing up with a sibling would have been exciting - having somebody to share things with, to explore with - but now that I'm older, I can't help but feel grateful that I _am_ an only child. I wouldn't have wanted the same violent fate for my brother or sister, I'm strangely glad that I suffered alone; nobody else got hurt.

"My boys are good for each other, even if they might not feel that way all the time," Hanna agrees, quietly. "Having them was the best thing I ever did. Even if I had to do it alone."

"I think you did a great job. Behind all of their stupid jokes, they're both good people. They think the world of you, y'know. Four included.. I know you've done a lot for him too."

She smiles, fondly. "Four is a good kid. He and Zeke are as thick as thieves. He's as good as my own flesh and blood."

I play with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, filled with pride. He _is_ a good person - the best. Which only reiterates the fact that I am beyond lucky to have him. I remember that he is only a floor below us, playing video games with the others. I suddenly feel a pang of emptiness, wanting him beside me.

"You two are good for each other," she adds, nonchalantly. A blush rises to my cheeks. "He's always been so determined to be independent, to rely on himself for most things in life. He needs somebody like you to show him the way.. and you need him too."

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I nod along. Conceding to the fact that she is completely right. "I do.. I do need him. I didn't think I needed anybody at all - I thought I could be alone forever - but it's different now, y'know?"

Hanna reaches over the counter and rests her hand atop of mine. "You didn't deserve what happened to you, dear. I may not know the full story, but I know enough to understand that those.. _people_ deserve the worst sentence the judge can order."

"Thank you." I whisper, gratefully. Blinking back the tears that begin to well up in my eyes, touched by her comment. Reinforcing my determination to take those assholes down before the judge.

"I didn't have the best of upbringings myself," she admits, straightening up to slide the cookie sheet into the oven. "My mother died giving birth to me, and my father blamed me for her death. He pretended like I wasn't there most of the time - I could cry and scream all I liked, but I would always be ignored."

Fiddling with the ends of my hair, I listen intently to what she has to say. I know firsthand that negligence is shitty; the person who is supposed to care for you has no interest in your wellbeing... they treat you like you are invisible. And sometimes that's what you become.

"My father neglected his parental duties and buried himself into his work instead. It was like I didn't exist in his eyes. So I learnt to take care of myself. At four-years-old I was able to dress and cook for myself, I cleaned up my own mess. It felt like I was all alone in the world."

Hanna sits beside me on a stool, clasping her hands together as her teeth fiddle with her lower lip. A distant memory seems to cloud over her dark, wide eyes and she sighs quietly to herself.

"Living in Chicago, the city was always busy. And with that came danger," she continues, steadily. "I was on my way home from work one night - a week after my eighteenth birthday - and a man jumped me.. and brought me into an alleyway."

"Hanna, you don't have to tell me this.."

"I _want_ to; I'm not ashamed of what happened to me, it wasn't my fault. But from that horrible, horrible thing, came a light - my two boys. When I found out I was pregnant with them, for the first time in my life, I didn't feel alone. I felt like I had a real purpose."

I reach over to grab her hand, not feeling frightened by the idea of physical contact. I might not be pregnant, but I do have something in my life that makes me feel the same way - Tobias. I can relate to the idea of finally seeing a light at the end of the dark tunnel.

"My point is," she goes on, earnestly. "Sometimes something amazing can come from terrible experiences. It may seem like the world is against you, but there will always be some kind of hope. Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if only you lift your head up long enough to find it. Don't give up, dear. Not yet. Not _ever_."

I can't even begin to comprehend how hard life has been for Hanna; being forced to take care of herself for her entire childhood - ignored by her father, never getting to meet her own mother - then being raped by a stranger and giving birth to his children. How strong she must have had to be for those nine months, all alone. Deciding to keep her babies rather than to abort them.

So many people have had rough times of it, experiences set back after set back, but come out on the other side stronger than ever before. Hanna has provided a safe and happy life for her children, one that she never had for herself. I could be like that one day. I _can_ be.

"You made sure that they had the childhood you wished you had, one filled with good memories and care," I conclude, admiringly. "You put your children before yourself, to offer them the best start in life. Maybe not by all standards, but to me, that makes you a hero. Uriah and Zeke are real lucky to have you as their mom."

"And now I'm going to make sure that _you_ receive the care that you deserved," Hanna answers, firmly. "You're with Four now, that makes you family. Family looks out for one another."

I chuckle, hollowly. "I don't really remember what it feels like to have a family. The memories used to make me sad, but now it's like I'm.. paralysed. Memories are just distant images in my mind, like they never really belonged to me."

Hanna smiles sadly, a haunted glint in her eye. "And that, my dear, is the greatest injustice of all."

I clench my fist in my lap, a surge of determination rushing through me. I want a life of happiness, I need the closure to move forward. I can't change what happened to me, but I can make sure that they pay for it. I want to _ruin_ them.

Catching onto my ferociousness, Hanna grins wildly. "Tris, when you get the chance, do not hesitate - _destroy them_. Make them pay. When you take the stand, I want you to make that courtroom your bitch."

"Yes, ma'am." I laugh, raising my hand in a teasing salute before beginning to stack the photographs into a neat pile.

"I suppose you should probably join the others - my request for a five minute chat morphed into one of thirty minutes. Four will be wondering just where you got to." Hanna comments, briefly glancing at her watch with an amused smirk.

The moment Christina and I crossed the threshold, Hanna rushed to greet us eagerly with steaming mugs of cocoa. Upon spotting my crutches - fitting the description she squeezed out of her son's - she ushered me into the kitchen for a chat, despite Uriah's protests. She fussed and clucked around me like a mother hen, getting me settled. It made a nice change.

"Time flies, eh?" I joke, carefully setting down my mug and slipping off the stool to touch solid ground. I grab onto my crutches, securing them for my support.

"Will you be alright making your way down those stairs? The flight is quite narrow, I don't want you to trip.." She worries, chewing her thumbnail anxiously.

I wave away her concern, gratefully. "Don't you worry about me. It will take more than a silly flight of stairs to get the best of me. It seems that the world is determined to have me stick around for a while longer."

"And rightly so," she notes, kindly. Her hand reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Now, hop to it. I have dinner plans to get dolled up for - three years of beautifying to do in a half hour. Mission impossible, if you ask me."

"Dinner reservations?" I ask, teasingly. "Have you got yourself a hot date tonight?"

She swats at me with a cloth, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "A co-workers leaving party, nothing too exciting. Not a tall, dark stranger in sight. Only Joey from security - a gay man with a serious eccentricity complex."

"You never know, perhaps your mister right is closer than you think." I shrug, optimistically; Hanna deserves to find somebody to share her life with, aside from her sons. I hope she finds him someday.

"Away with you," she laughs, shooing me away, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Go on - I'll bring down the cookies before I head out. I'm sure the pizza delivery guy will be here soon."

Leaving her alone in the warmly lit kitchen, I make my way toward the open basement door, following the noise. I can hear Marlene's contagious giggles and Uriah's competitive grunts as he struggles to beat his opponent on the selected video game.

I struggle to brave the narrow staircase, holding my breath every time the crutch slides out from under me, nearly sending me crashing to the floor. I mutter a string of curses under my breath as my ribs twinge, triggering an implosion of agony.

The converted basement substitutes for a teenage den - there are lime coloured couches and a leather gaming chair in the corner, accompanied by a flat screen television mounted to the wall. Slithers of moonlight shine through the small windows. There is a shelf filled with comics and paperbacks, superhero posters and a futuristic lava lamp sitting atop of an oak coffee table.

Uriah is perched in the gaming chair with Marlene at his feet, both wielding their controls with expressions of fierce concentration. Zeke and Shauna are making out in the far corner, oblivious to their surroundings. I notice happily that Christina and Will are also sucked up in their own little world, heads bent close together as they talk quietly. Both blushing furiously.

Tobias is lounging on the nearby couch, elbows rested on his knees as he holds his own in the fierce virtual competition, steering his own controls with determination. He seems to be pulling ahead of the others, infuriating Uriah.

I lean against my crutches and watch him for a fleeting moment, taking the step back to just _admire_ him. The strength of his forearms, the glittering aqua spark of his eyes. His short chocolate curls. I couldn't critique a thing, inside or out. I love his bravery, his intelligence, his kindness. I love _him_.

"Tris!" Shauna is the first to spot me, having finally come up for some air. "There you are! We were starting to think that you'd disappeared on us completely."

Tobias turns his head to look at me, a grin finding his mouth. Abandoning the intense game entirely, he stands to greet me as I hobble over to the couch.

"Hey, wonder boy," I smile, nudging him gently with my shoulder. "I see you've been busy kicking Uriah's ass in my absence."

"Did you expect any less?" He banters back, ignoring Uriah's moan of disapproval. His face softens and he moves forward to take my face in his hands. "Are you ok? You seemed a little.. at odds, on the phone earlier."

"I'm fine," I tell him, honestly. Thinking back to my conversation with Hanna, and the clarity it brought. "Better than fine, really. I just missed you, that's all."

Tobias smiles and presses his lips to my forehead. "I missed you too."

"Not that this isn't totally adorable," Uriah chimes in, sarcastically. "But you're ruining our game, Tris. Don't make me break another one of your ribs."

I shrug, confidently, carefully settling myself onto the couch. "Hit me with your best shot. I seem to have more lives than a Buddhist cat."

Marlene chuckles, pinching Uriah's calf. "You were going to lose either way. Between me and Four, you didn't stand a chance. _Rookie_."

"I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Uriah warns, stubbornly. "With Tris' bad luck rubbing off on us all, you may be stuck here in this basement until morning.. where nobody can hear you scream!"

"Get _off_ me." The blonde squeals as Uriah begins to tickle her neck.

"What is he talking about?" I ask Tobias, tucking myself into his side as he wraps an arm around me.

My boyfriend sighs, despondently. "The weather is looking pretty grim - storm watches have been issued, but it's nothing serious. I'm sure it will pass in no time. No harm done."

"I don't like storms." I whisper, shivering slightly. I don't think that particular fear will ever really go away; some memories are just too powerful to erase.

Tobias squeezes me to him, supportively. "I know, but I'm going to be right here. And I may have told my mom that I'll be bunking up with Zeke tonight, so that means I could come over... bleach a few surfaces."

I laugh, incredulously. "I think we've done enough cleaning to last a lifetime.." my face softens. ".. I'd like that. I haven't slept well without you. We're better together."

"You bet your sweet ass we are." He grins, triumphantly. Nodding in evident agreement.

I snatch the controller from Tobias' hands and turn toward the flat screen. "Uriah, get ready to be beaten into the ground. I'm _so_ going to kick your butt. Then we'll see who's really got the bad luck."

"Luck will have nothing to do with it - challenge accepted." He smirks, determinedly. Angling himself toward the screen with a newfound motivation.

Two victories and a half hour later, Hanna comes teetering down the staircase in a pair of fiery red heels. Her long black dress is simple yet elegant, her face naturally beautiful. In her arms are a stack of pizza boxes, shielding her face from view.

Before she can even reach the bottom step, Tobias has rushed forward to help her, taking at least half of the boxes in his own arms. Shauna and Zeke follow closely behind.

"Are you sure you kids will be alright alone?" She worries as the others begin to hand out the pizzas, a box falling in my own lap. "I don't feel comfortable leaving you here, those weather watch postings are only getting more severe."

Uriah waves away her concern, already digging into his own pizza. "We'll be fine, mom. You have fun."

"We have your number if something goes wrong," Tobias assures her. "It will be okay. You just head out and take it easy - make sure your ride is careful out on the roads, it could get pretty dangerous out there."

Hanna's shoulders relax slightly and she reaches up to pinch his cheek, fondly. "Always my sensible one, eh?"

Tobias flushes bright red and flops down beside me on the couch again, flipping open his own pizza box. I chuckle as his stomach growls almost in tandem. For a guy who was never able to squeeze such an unhealthy meal into his diet, he wastes no time in demolishing as much as he can.

Pointing a manicured finger in my direction, Hanna gives me a warning look. "And you take it easy, dear. No running about the place; I'm sure a trip to the emergency room is the last thing you want."

"Understood." I grin, putting up my hands in a surrender.

The next twenty minutes are spent bickering playfully between ourselves, while stuffing our faces with pizza slices. I barely make a dent in my own, picking at it with a decline of appetite; my meds fuck with my normal eating patterns. I am much more accustomed to midnight snacks.

"Are you going to eat that?" Tobias asks, sheepishly, eyeing my pizza with a palpable hunger. I swear, his stomach must never end.

"Knock yourself out," I shrug, pushing the box over to him. He grins, happily. "When was the last time you ate? Your mom isn't starving you now, is she?"

There is a jesting twinge to my voice, but concern stirs deep in the pit of my stomach. His mom is intense but I don't think she could be that cruel. Even still, I know what it's like to go hungry - I don't want that for him.

"Not yet," he responds, jovially. "But I wouldn't put it past her. She's mad - _really_ mad - I've never seen her like this before. I'm not used to this side of her, y'know?"

I rest my chin on his shoulder, looking up at him sadly. Despite everything, of course he still loves her. "I'm sure she'll come around, just give her some time. She loves you."

Lowering his voice, he leans further into my side. "I know that but.. it's hard to remember sometimes, especially when she's freezing me out, acting as if I don't exist. And when she _does_ acknowledge me, it's only to tell me that I've let everybody down, that I'm just a disappointment to her. To everyone."

The hollowness in his voice upsets me, and I reach up to press a kiss to his cheek. "You haven't let anybody down, and you are no disappointment. She's hurt, she's lashing out. Just don't let it get to you.. I know how easy it is to just believe the horrid things, but you're so strong. You can beat this."

"I love you." He murmurs, gratefully, dipping his head to press his mouth to mine. A warm feeling racing through my veins, an unavoidable desire clouding my mind.

When I tell him I love him back, the words flow from my mouth freely, comfortably. It doesn't feel foreign now, just _right_. I'm confident in my feelings, and I know that he is too. I mean my words.

Pulling us from our own little moment, Zeke launches a pillow across the room to collide with our heads. "That's enough smooching, love birds. Some of us are trying to eat over here!"

Tobias shoots him a half hearted glare, throwing it back with enough strength to knock Zeke from the couch. "Pull that shit again and I will choke you with it."

"Kinky." The dark skinned boy whistles, blowing a kiss.

Christina is fiddling with the old stereo in the corner, cross-legged on the fluffy rug. Will sits beside her, scanning the ancient technology with a calculating stare, stiffly adjusting his glasses.

"Good luck getting that thing to work," Shauna snorts. "If it wasn't for the fact that it came right out of the swinging sixties, it certainly didn't survive being tossed across the room."

"Who threw it?" Will queries, taking it from Christina to tamper with the buttons.

Shauna blushes scarlet, ducking her head. "It was an accident, really. It, er.. got in the way."

"Oh, it got in the way alright." Zeke agrees, smugly. I cringe at the proud expression on his face, realising just when this accident occurred.

I roll my eyes, exasperatedly. "Can you ever just fool around somewhere _normal_?"

Uriah mimics vomiting motions, looking utterly repulsed. "You two did it in the _basement_? That's gross! There are things down here - spiders, for one."

"We didn't do it on the floor, asshat," Zeke offers, a nonchalant smile at his lips. "We did it on that chair, if it makes any difference."

He points to the leather gaming chair where Uriah is slouched, Marlene curled up in his lap. They both scramble to stand, making noises of evident disgust. Zeke simply cackles while Shauna blushes, embarrassed.

"You could have warned me that I was sitting in a -a _contaminated_ area," Marlene spits, shuddering. "I don't want to lounge around in the aftermath of your sexual escapades, thank you very much."

"If it makes you feel any better, the specific _aftermath_ occurred on the couch. More specifically, right where Tris happens to be sitting." Shauna adds, teasingly.

Tobias groans and carefully lifts me into his lap, staring stoney faced at his best friend. "That's gross - seriously, can't you _ever_ keep it in your pants?"

"Oh, come on, it's not like she's not used to it. You dark horses." Zeke chimes in with a suggestive smirk, insinuating that _we_ too have participated in such activities.

I feel Tobias tense under me, and Christina's eyes instantly harden from across the room. He's right; I _am_ used to it, but not in the way he is implying. I push the bad memories aside as they attempt to play the field, locking them away.

Laughing, I bat away the comment. "Not all of us rely on sex to fill the gaps, _some_ of us can have real and civilised conversations, Ezekiel."

Shauna sticks out her tongue, childishly. " _Lame_."

I open my mouth to cleverly change the subject just as a flash of lightning slips through the small windows, taking us all by surprise. Tobias grabs my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Once the low rumble of thunder has followed, Will hums thoughtfully, the cogs turning in his intelligent mind. "The storm is exactly three miles away. It sounds bad, you guys. Thunder shouldn't be so loud considering it's a good few miles away."

As if on cue, the video game displayed on the flat screen switches to a public service announcement. The robotic voice echoes the update and we ruefully follow the words - the National Weather Service has officially issued a severe thunderstorm warning.

The statistics and specifics are acknowledged briefly and Will pays close attention, turning it over in his mind. Storms are common in Newport - especially at this humid time of the year - but mere watches are rare, let alone _real warnings._ It's not an everyday occurrence.

"What the hell does that mean?" Christina asks, slowly, turning to face us, fearfully.

Tobias carefully shifts me from his lap, settling me back into his previously occupied spot. He begins to rush around the small basement, searching through cupboards and boxes. His frantic movement contradicts the cool expression decorating his handsome features.

"Zeke, you better haul ass and help me look for some flashlights. If the power goes out, they may be our only sources of light," Tobias calls out, calmly. "We need to stay in the basement - it's our safest bet. But we need to keep away from the windows at all costs."

Obediently, Zeke leaps up to help search for as many old flashlights as possible. I watch, helplessly, fear curdling my insides. Run-of-the-Mill storms are my kryptonite, so this is my worst nightmare. _Goddamn weather_.

"Four," Marlene snaps, standing beside the television uncertainly. "What's going on? What does this all mean?"

"It means that we need to be prepared," Tobias bites back, his muscles tight. "We have one hell of a storm headed our way."

"The basement is an ideal shelter for these conditions. Like Four says, we must stay clear of windows; the winds are at a high speed of almost 150 miles per hour. Winds of that magnitude could almost equate to an F3 - bordering at least.."

Uriah groans at Will's scientific breakdown, peeling through a cardboard box. "Do you _ever_ make sense?"

"An F3 is the magnitude of a storm, often used in tornado-orientated terminology," the blonde boy explains, factually. "An F3 isn't quite devastating - nor incredible - it's just dangerous. We are caught between a gale and a severe thunderstorm."

"A tornado?" Shauna chokes out, her eyes wide with terror.

Zeke swallows hard, emerging with a couple flashlights and a handful of spare batteries. "My mom is out there. What if.."

"Hey," Tobias extends a hand to touch his shoulder, firmly. "None of that. She's not alone, and she'll be safe. I promise. If it's a tornado we're dealing with, it will be a small one. We just have to wait it out and brace for a moment of impact, it will be fine."

I wonder if he is worrying about his own mother. The answer seems obvious, but the courageous and composed front he is putting on has blocked my ability to read his emotions. He seems to have pushed his own concern to one side, focusing primarily on guiding our friends to safety. The epitome of a brave leader.

We manage to scavenge a dozen blankets and a couple flashlights, but there's not much else to protect ourselves with. Zeke and Uriah push the couches to form a shitty barricade between us and the glass windows, positioning the rug to give us all somewhere mildly comfortable to sit.

Tobias crouches before me and wraps a blanket around my shoulders, fussing over me like a mother hen. I reach up and cup his cheek with my hand, watching as his walls momentarily fall, the worry in his gaze clearly palpable.

"Your mom is going to be fine." I promise, quietly, so that only he can hear. Reading his mind is as easy as acknowledging the colour of his eyes; our connection runs deeper than anticipated.

He snorts, leaning in to my palm. "I know, she's a tough old bird, my mother. Only Evelyn can hurt Evelyn. I just hope she's somewhere safe, that she's got enough sense to find shelter someplace."

"If she's even half as smart as her son, I'm sure she will be fine," I tell him. "Seriously, how are you so.. _calm_? It's unsettling. I'm freaking out, and you've just taken this in your stride as if it's all a game. _How_?"

Tobias sighs and pulls away from my hand, only to fit himself into my side a second later, wrapping me up in his strong arms. "Storms don't frighten me. If everybody freaks out, we'd all be running around like headless chickens in a mass panic. Besides, I need to keep you safe; I need a clear and collected mindset to do just that."

"I can keep myself safe." I protest, stubbornly, nuzzling my face into the expanse of his neck. Inhaling his scent to calm my nerves, keeping the shaking at bay.

"Oh, I know," he lets out a breathless chuckle. "But sometimes you gotta let me take care of you too. You're scared and I hate it; I hate seeing you anything but happy... let me look after you right now."

As another flash of lightning strikes, the lights above our heads begin to flicker before shutting off completely. Just as he had predicted. The lightning must have hit the power box. The thunder follows quickly, demonstrating its close proximity.

"Two miles," Will murmurs into the darkness. "It was ten seconds that time, not fifteen - two miles away."

Uriah snaps on his flashlight, swiftly joined by Shauna's and Christina's. The beams of light illuminate the basement, where we are all huddled close together on the floor. Seeking shelter behind the couches.

Tobias keeps his arms wound tightly around me, kissing the crown of my head as I tuck myself under his chin. My fingers curl into his shirt, looking for something to tether me to solid ground.

"So.. what now?" Zeke wonders after a moment, his words almost lost under the loud pelting of rain outside. "Should we tell ghost stories? Hold a seance? I'm sure there's an old ouija board stashed down here somewhere.."

Christina cuts him a cold glare. "Don't even joke."

"My ma once told me that only the stupidest of people dare to mess around with the spirit world. Those boards are cursed with evil entities. I don't trust 'em for a second." Marlene chimes in, matter-of-factly.

"There is very little evidence to support the argument of the paranormal. In fact, science has been able to disprove multiple sightings and theories. Boards can't be cursed; it's just an inanimate object with a long winded history. There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Is too," Uriah argues in a juvenile fashion, disagreeing with Will's rather scientific response. "I should know. I've seen one."

"Bullshit." Christina scoffs, disbelieving.

Uriah is outraged. "No it's not! I'm telling the truth, honest."

"Are not."

"Am too."

I flinch and hide my face in Tobias' broad shoulder as thunder cracks, its ferocity practically shaking the walls. Rain hits with sheer force and determination, the high winds sending the droplets into chaos.

"Easy," He whispers into my ear, running his hand through my hair. "It's okay, I've got you."

As the others continue to bicker between themselves and the storm steadily draws closer, I bury my face into Four's sweater and attempt to push aside my fear. The thunder is louder now, coming toward us furiously. Unceasing and relentless.

I remember the very first night that Max laid his hands on me, on _us_. A storm raged outside of my bedroom window as I was pulled out from my bed and beaten to a pulp. I screamed bloody murder, but it made no difference; my mother was already unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. Cracks of thunder and lightening matched his furious fists.

After that fateful, stormy night, everything changed. I was no longer a sixteen-year-old girl, preoccupied with school dances and test scores. I became a shell of myself, broken and bruised. He took away my identity, my normal life. And it all began with one roaring tempest.

Uriah suddenly jumps into a cheesy horror story about a werewolf that stalks around Newport in the dead of night, searching for its next meal. I listen to his idiotic rambling and allow myself to relax. My head is pressed against Tobias' heart and I follow its steady beats, letting it distract me from the chaos ensuing outside.

"Cut it out, Uri; you're scaring Christina." Will sighs as the troublesome boy lets out a load howl, badly impersonating a werewolf. Christina is pressed into Will's side, the storm and the intensity of the situation taking its toll on the otherwise fearless brunette.

"Werewolves don't exist," Shauna adds, snottily. "If you're going to bore me to death, you should at least tell a mildly realistic ghost story."

Tobias groans, frustrated. "All of this pointless bickering is slowly chipping away at my sanity. Why don't we just sit in silence and wait for the all clear? I may be driven insane before the night is up."

"Does it ever get boring always - _always_ \- being the one who says.." Zeke clears his throat and attempts to imitate Tobias' deep, intimidating voice. " _Stop that_ , or, _that's not right_ , _fun is bad_."

"I know how to have fun." He protests, defensively. His brows furrowed into an irritated frown.

Zeke snorts in response. "Since when? Fun _isn't_ running laps around town like you're on one too many steroids, nor is it staying home instead of going to a wild party."

"Fun is simply perspective," Will cuts in, coolly, adjusting his glasses nervously. " _I_ specifically find enjoyment in reading and learning. Although - speaking as an unbiased third party - you are rather uptight, Four."

Jumping in, I raise my head from his neck and kiss his cheek, reassuringly. "Well, _I_ think he's fun."

"I am _not_ uptight, I'll have you know-"

Another rumble from the sky cuts him off, shaking the walls vigorously. The lightening strikes not two seconds later; it's right above us, capturing us in the eye of the storm. I wrap my arms around Tobias' neck and push my face back against his skin, biting back a cry of fear. A small whimper escapes my mouth none the less, the winds and noise only growing louder and louder.

Christina's frightened sobs are faintly audible, and I'm sure it is Marlene that begins to murmur a string of prayers, counteracting Zeke's manic cursing. What was supposed to be a fun night with friends has once again taken a turn for the worst.

The panic starts out as thin as cellophane, something my fingers can barely push breathing holes through. As the thunder ripples through the air and lightening hits, the panic is a deluge of ice water surrounding every limb. Everything begins to spin.

As my shoulders begin to heave with the effort and my breath becomes lodged in my throat, Tobias snaps into his protective and soothing role he seems to have taken up. He begins to whisper sweet and comforting words into my ear, attempting to bring me back down again. He starts to rock me slightly as I gasp for air, losing control. Heading steadily into a downward spiral.

Dark images and memories claim the forefront of my mind, I can smell the liquor on his breath as the blood spills over my lips. I can feel his hands over my body, pinching my waist and grasping my butt in his rough and violating palms. It's like I'm back in that closet, fighting to stay conscious. Fighting to stay alive.

Tobias' hand gently skims over my hair and the memories fall away - his scent, his touch, all combatted by the tenderness of the blue-eyed boy's embrace. His heart beats steadily against my own chest, reminding me of his presence. I am protected.

"I've got you, Tris," he whispers in the most sugary voice I've ever heard. "Remember where you are - _with me_. You're going to be okay, you've got me. Alright? Breathe, baby girl."

"I-I can't." I manage to stammer, tears beginning to spill down my cheeks. I want to follow his voice, let him lead me back to reality, but I'm too far gone. My head is a muddle of nightmarish memories and anxiety.

"The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry," my ears perk, recognising the poem from my book, listening as he calmly tells it to me. "If you stop and look around you, you'll start to see. Tall marigolds darkening. A spring wind blowing. The woods awake with sound. On the wooden porch, your love smiling. Dew-wet red berries..."

His serene drawl soothes my nerves. I follow along and regain a slither of control, carefully beginning to sustain a healthy breathing pattern. I feel like I'm on the verge of passing out, but I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the spinning to slow.

My surroundings become clear once more: the girls muffled sobs as the storm continues to roar, rattling the walls and the windows. Faint whispers of communication between the twin brothers, sharing concerns for their mothers' safety.

"That's my girl, just breathe for me," Tobias murmurs as I slouch against him, exhausted and overwhelmed. My fear numbing for a precious moment. "I love you. You're safe with me."

I believe him wholeheartedly; I feel nothing but safety and security when I am in his arms, in his presence. He shields me from my fears, wrangles the nightmares with softly spoken words. Tobias Eaton is no superhero - that title is too underwhelming for his bravery and courage.

As one of the windows shatter, glass flying through the air, Shauna declares through her tears, "I love you guys."

The others respond with identical touching sentiments, but I have no energy to supply my own. I fear that if I open my mouth to speak, I may burst into flames. I need to conserve my motivation.

"You're going to be alright. _We_ are going to be alright. I promise." Tobias tells me, firmly.

And for the first time, I don't have much trouble in trusting his promise.

 _We're going to be alright._

 **-o-o-o-**

 **AN:**

 **New chapter yay! I went away on vacation last week and used the time without WiFi to catch up on some serious writing. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter; exploring more character interactions is always a ball, and also introducing Hanna's supportive presence.**

 **Sadly, this story is beginning to draw to a close. Only 2-3 more chapters left. I've been drafting a new idea for my next Divergent story - where two rivalry boarding schools are forced to unite to create one large school. Tensions run high, and Four and Tris are assigned the roles of head boy and girl, tasked with bringing both student bodies together. But the bad blood runs deep. Tris will be suffering with OCD, and Four - the boy she should hate - seems to be the only one who understands her condition.**

 **What do you guys think? If you would be interested in reading that story, let me know! I'm still drawing together a specific plan, so if you have any suggestions please feel free to PM me!**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and make sure to drop a review and let me know what you thought. Next chapter - the dreaded court date!**

 **\- GuiltyMind :)**


	21. Epilogue

**"Bittersweet Sunshine"**

 **Epilogue {Tris' POV}**

 **-o-o-o-**

With baited breath, I allowed my fingertips to follow the streaks of sunlight dancing across my stomach, fingering the puckered skin. The scars were smaller now – less noticeable. Revealing shirts and summer dresses were still a challenge; exposing the jagged lines to any person who bothered to look was a frightening prospect. But the scars were a part of my journey. They show where I've been, but do not determine where I have to go. Staring dreamily into the glass, as sunlight streamed in through the open window, I almost laugh.

Displayed proudly behind the mirror, a well-worn map had been sloppily hung with double-sided tape and pins – the edges curled with age and there were splotches of paint and coffee here and there. Where wishful scarlet annotations used to lie, small photographs and souvenirs took their place. Almost every country, every continent. Romantic snapshots of the Eiffel tower; tickets to a boat ride along the river Themes; a wine auction in Verona. All of our adventures.

Buttoning my shirt, I quickly pull my hair back into a knot and scramble for my boots. Across the tiny bedroom, inside of an even tinier apartment, newspaper articles and scrapped typewriter attempts were strewn in heaps on the wooden floorboards. A variety of leafy plants were rustled in the warm breeze as I struggled to reach my journal on the top shelf, groaning over the incessant beeping of car horns and city traffic below.

New York was an entire world away from the provincial town they called home; it was exciting, a whole city filled with opportunities. There, everything seemed possible; anybody could make it, even a small town girl with a dark past and not a clue as to where it was that she belonged. The people were rude, brash and sometimes foul-smelling, but that was ok; I was never really alone.

Scooping up a discarded mug of cold, bitter coffee with one hand, I attempted to seal an envelope with the other, ducking out of the doorway toward the kitchen. It was just as I had pictured it, holed up in the freezing cold walls of my treehouse – a third floor shoebox apartment, mere blocks away from the Hudson River line. It was a little rough around the edges, just like we were all those years ago, kissing in the surf and climbing trees.

Dropping the chipped mug into the steel sink, I shouldered my purse and held the keys between my teeth, hastily skirting around squeaky clean running shoes and the cherry red heels Christina had neglected to retrieve after visiting last month, twinkly-eyed, alongside her girlfriend. The escort from next door offered a sheepish smile as he ushered his client into the hallway, shoes in hand and dress severely dishevelled. I simply shook my head in amusement and manipulated the rusty key into the lock. If it wasn't moaning and groaning from the left that roused us awake most nights, it was the loud music and constant partying of college students on the right. Though, we certainly had our fair share of noisy nights.

Unwilling to brave the filthy elevator, I took the narrow flights of stairs, barely pausing to wobble a little in my heels. If there was one day that I couldn't possibly be a moment late for, it would be this one – the meeting with the editor had to go without a hitch if I stood any chance at being published. After all, I had not travelled all this way to run coffee and check facts. The struggling, the arguing… it all had to be worthwhile. It just had to be.

The lobby itself was completely deserted – even the abrupt man behind the front desk was dozing silently, propped up by his elbow. Pausing just before the slightly dirty door, I ran my finger along the sharp crease of the letter. It was one of many I had sent before, but each time I slipped it in for posting, nerves encased any lingering logic. She enjoyed receiving the letters; not many other women in the penitentiary had the same luxuries. They were brief, often too formal – and perhaps she didn't deserve to hear from me at all – but it was the best that I could do.

Upon her release, a small number of months from now, perhaps forgiveness may come easier. For right now, however, the letters were enough. In the seven years since their trial, when I stood before the judge and the jury in floods of tears, we had exchanged merely a dozen letters. Apologies on her part, mostly, and acknowledgement on mine. I was never exactly the compassionate type, but I'm trying. That had to count for something, right?

Ring glistening in the light, I shook my head free of thoughts and turned away, the letter now safely tucked away for a first class delivery. The air was warm and slightly sticky and I smiled to myself, suddenly aching for a milkshake and a flirtatious game of teenage footsie beneath the diner's polished tables. Settling instead for a bottle of water and a hurry to make the next train. The newspaper was a good distance away from the apartment, so relying on the subway was the cheapest and – often – the most reliable form of transport. The brushing of shoulders and leering men was something I had to become accustomed to, though even now, after years of living in the city, I found myself flinching at the slightest of touch from a stranger.

Right on time, to the very second, I was joined in my descent into the station. Decked out in his usual thick framed glasses and crisp blue blazer, he smiled shyly and ruffled his cornflower hair, badly attempting to balance a croissant and a stack of scruffy papers written by his class of fourth-graders. Taking his love for knowledge to one of the city's many elementary schools, Will taught his students wacky science experiments and daft poems. Often, I struggled to remember him as the timid boy that sat with me beside the river, sharing his stack of literary treasures in the sunshine. He had been there for as long as I could remember – sat behind me at the trial squeezing my shoulder, studying for finals, dancing awkwardly at our graduation celebration.

"Good morning," I greeted him eventually, pushing through the crowd of early commuters tenderly cradling cups of coffee and yawning. He barely batted an eyelid, sleepily following me to the platform. "You look awful," I laugh, inspecting the dark rings beneath his emerald eyes. My mouth curls into a knowing smirk as I spot the hickey barely hidden beneath his collar. "Looks like someone didn't get much sleep at all."

Adjusting his collar, anxiously, he scowled half-heartedly. "Shut up."

His fleeting summer romance with Christina barely made it into the first semester of senior year; while he was determined to study hard and make it to college, she was more involved in her new cheer endeavours. After a few heated arguments and public scenes, their relationship drew to a sharp close. As far as we all knew, his love life had been entirely ineffective ever since – but judging by the mark on his neck, the faint smell of perfume and a swollen look to his lips, he had been keeping a few dirty secrets of his own.

"It's nothing," he added after a moment, flushing scarlet. "Just… a little, well er- _fun_?"

Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I touch his elbow briefly. "Will, you deserve to be happy. I know you – you _don't_ do _fun_. Bring her along tomorrow night – it'll be cool."

" _Cool_?" He echoes, a twinkle in his eye just thinking about it. "Right. I don't want to drive her away for good by forcing her to sit through the chuckle-brothers routine while Zeke and Uriah spill a bunch of embarrassing stories about me back in junior year. And don't get me started on Christina – she'd practically maul her for information-,"

"Seems you've put a lot of thought into something that is only a bit of fun," I tease, unable to conceal a laugh when he blushes a few shades darker. "Look – just think about it, ok? Any girl who could divert your attention away from a book is somebody that I would like to meet. Just take a chance! What could go wrong?"

Will snorts and pushes his glasses further along his nose as we prepare to separate for our platforms. "Have you _met_ Zeke and Uriah? Besides, not all of us are so fortunate to marry our high school sweetheart-,"

I slip between the closing doors of the train before he could finish, and I stick my tongue out childishly before we take off into the darkness. Hurtling away from the platform, I watch Will wave with a lopsided grin, turning away to navigate the underground labyrinth. Despite seeing him for a couple minutes each morning, it just didn't feel the same. It had been months since returning home to Newport for Hanna's birthday celebrations. Months since we had all been together.

Settling into a vacant seat, squashed uncomfortably between an elderly gentlemen in tweed and a businessman in an expensive suit, I glance at the ring that embraces my skin. His own hands had shaken as he slipped it onto my frostbitten finger, snowflakes in our hair and scattered across our cheeks. It was simple – a quiet, tender suggestion out on the tiny balcony of our city apartment, wrapped in blankets and watching the first snowfall the city had seen that year. There was no fireworks, no grand gesture or large bouquet of roses; it was sweet and sincere, a kiss on the nose and a small satin box stashed away in the pocket of his old sweatpants. We had kissed there in the snow, caught up in our blankets. As if we were the only things that existed, and after months and months apart while Tobias was away constructing his own manuscript, it certainly felt that way.

It seemed so absurd. The plan I had formulated was so particular, so certain; to get out of that dead-end town and escape the shadows that had clasped their fingers around my throat. I'd find an apartment somewhere, as far away from home as possible, with no ties to the hell that I was living. Quite frankly, it was almost laughable how much had changed in just a single summer. He made me feel again. And I could never repay such a debt; without his understanding, his kindness, I would be still stuck in that old crumbling treehouse, or worse – _dead_.

Max would always be a part of my life, but not in the same way. His cruelty taught me to be kind; his darkness taught me to find the light in bad situations; his ridicule of my dreams taught me to fight that much harder to achieve them. He was a ghost of the past. I defeated my demons, used all of my energy to stand up for myself. But I had help. There are kids still out there suffocating in their own homes, tortured with bruises and groping hands, who will never be as fortunate as I was to discover a way out. There are plenty of Max's – ones that will never be punished or caught or locked away. And that is the biggest injustice of all.

I deserve to live. I've chased my dreams, poured blood, sweat and tears into every article and every column, I've fallen in love and stood up for what I believed in. The marks on my skin do not rule my world; _I_ do. I've crawled through the worst parts of my life and emerged on the other side, bruised but not broken.

Hugging my journal to my chest, my hair fluttering gently against the smooth skin of my neck, I murmur a promise to myself. Words that only Tobias speaks softly into my ear before we sleep and as we connect with tangled limbs and soft moans, his minty breath hot against my ear as he twirls my ponytail between his fingertips. Only this time, I understand. I mean it.

" _You're worth it. I love you."_

 **xxxx**


	22. IMPORTANT AN

IMPORTANT AN:

Oh my gosh, thank you so much to FDFobsessed who kindly brought it to my attention that my readers who commented on my previous AN informing you of my inability to complete the story in December are not able to review the epilogue I posted!

So I'm posting this chapter to allow any returning readers to leave their thoughts to the epilogue! Another big thank you to FDFobsessed who raised this to me!


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